Temptation is the Night

by Marguerite Kaye

  “There’s something about sea voyages, isn’t there,” Jack said thoughtfully.

  “They make you forget all about the real world. That’s what I did when I saw you. At least—not forget, but I hoped it would go away. You were so pure and lovely and untouched. I thought it would be enough, just loving you. But the real world was still there, when we landed.”

  He took a deep draft of champagne and topped up his glass. Lindsey’s remained virtually untouched.

  “I was the youngest of three brothers,” Jack continued with an abrupt change of tone. “When the war broke out Harry, my oldest brother, was already in the army. George, my next brother, signed up straight away. I was nineteen. All I cared about then was engines. I wanted to build my own sports car and enter for the Monte Carlo race. I didn’t want to fight in a war, not even one everybody said would be over by Christmas.”

  He sighed deeply. “But duty is a family tradition, so I followed Harry and George into the army. Not long after that my father died. Harry became the sixth earl. Poor Harry, less than a year later he died at the Somme, and George became the seventh earl. He died at the second battle of Ypres, so it was my turn. I’d never wanted the title. I never expected it, and to be honest, at the time I didn’t really think it mattered. The survival rates for officers were pretty slim, but I was one of the lucky ones. Compared to most, I had an easy war. A few pieces of shrapnel, a gas attack, but I made it more or less intact. The Eighth Earl of Crieff,” he said bitterly. “You’ve no idea how guilty I felt.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault, Jack.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t make any difference. It’s nearly six years ago now, but the pain and the guilt are just as fresh as ever. It’s so hard to explain. The war scarred us, all of us who took part. It set us apart from everyone else. We were never the same, it felt like nothing could ever be the same. And that feeling, the things we had been through—it’s not something anyone who hadn’t could ever understand. There were those of us who had been to war, and those of you who hadn’t. Like two separate species. You said to me that you wanted to heal me, but the last thing I wanted to do was let you see my wounds. Too many and too deep. Far too grotesque. I wanted to pretend they didn’t exist. I thought if I didn’t talk about it, it would all go away—the things I’d been forced to do, the things I’d seen other people do. The suffering.”

  He stopped, his face pale, a cold sweat clammy on his brow. Lindsey pushed his glass towards him. Jack’s hand shook violently as he raised it to his mouth and took a large swallow. He mopped his face. “I didn’t want you tainted by what I’d been through. It was all so near the surface, and I was terrified of what it would do to you, to see the monstrous things inside me. You were right, I was afraid to let go. I was afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop falling.”

  “I would have caught you.”

  “No. I couldn’t ask that of you, and I don’t think you could have. Not then. Have you heard of shell shock? That’s the name for what I had. Still have. It’s a horrible thing to witness—you saw that once. Nightmares, screaming. Violent, uncontrollable shaking. Sweating. And there are blackouts too. Sometimes five minutes, sometimes days where I just wouldn’t remember anything. Where I’d been. What I’d done.”

  “That’s what it was, that night? Do you mean you didn’t even remember me being there?” She felt sick with guilt, sick with the horror of what he was telling her.

  “I remembered. I thought you couldn’t forgive me. I didn’t blame you—except I did. I couldn’t talk about it, Lindsey, I couldn’t explain it, I was so ashamed.”

  “Ashamed!”

  “Others had been through more, much more. I had no right…”

  “Jack! You went through four years of hell. You had every right! I am so, so sorry. Do you still…”

  “Yes. Not so often and not so bad, but sometimes. After I saw you at Lady Eleanor’s it got worse again. It might never go away.”

  The enormity of what he had confessed filled her with a huge pity for what he had suffered so stoically for so long. She was awed by the effort of will it must have taken for him to hide it, his determination to cope alone, mortified by her own youthful inadequacy, her lack of understanding. “I thought you were drinking. Or taking drugs. Or that you had come to be so repelled by me that you couldn’t bear to be in my company. I never dreamed—God Jack, I just never thought. I am so sorry.” She wanted to wrap her body around him like a blanket. “It’s why we never shared a room, isn’t it? Why you locked yourself away from me. You were protecting me.”

  “You always seemed so fragile. I couldn’t bear the thought of burdening you with something you couldn’t possibly cope with.”

  “Something that was part of you. I thought you were avoiding me. I thought you regretted marrying me, and you were too English to say.”

  Jack took a sip of iced water. The relief of his confession was making him tremble. “I drove you away. I made you leave. Deliberately, I think, you were right about that. But in some ways, it was never going to work. You so young, me so damaged, and more to the point, unwilling to admit it. I’ve changed that much. I know what’s wrong with me now. Back then, the time just wasn’t right, not for either of us.”

  She was gripping his hand so tight her nails were white at the tips. Relief at finally hearing the truth surged through her, for horrific as it was, it was not the most horrific, that he did not love her. Guilt, pain, anguish, remorse, were swamped by the tidal wave of love which rushed over her as he peeled away the layers of his reserve and revealed himself in the raw. The most precious gift he could give her. “And now?” She hardly dared ask the question.

  “I never stopped loving you. Seeing you again, it didn’t just bring it all back, it made me realise it would never go away. I love you. I loved you then, but I love you so much more now. And you’re different too. Stronger, more sure of yourself. I came here to tell you the truth—finally. To ask you to give me another chance, knowing the facts, knowing what you’d have to cope with—because it won’t go away. Not completely. Maybe never, you do understand that, don’t you,” Jack said urgently.

  Lindsey nodded. “I do. And I understand what it cost you to tell me. Truly.” She clutched desperately at his hand. She would never, ever let him go.

  “It’s up to you then,” Jack said. “To choose. I won’t blame you if you walk away now. I would understand.” He managed a rueful smile. “At least, I’d try to.”

  “You won’t have to.” Lindsey’s eyes were awash with tears, alight with happiness. “I have always, always loved you. I will always, always choose you, no matter what. We were meant to be together. I am so sorry I didn’t understand. Just promise me there will be no more secrets.”

  “I promise.” He had never looked at her like that. Exposed. Needy. Blatantly loving. “Now for God’s sake, just kiss me.”

  She did. In full view of the diners and waiters, Lindsey kissed her husband. Over the red-and-white check cloth of the table, their lips met in a kiss that was a coming home and a promise, breaking apart only when the smattering of applause from their audience brought them down to earth.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Jack threw down a handful of dollars and grabbed Lindsey’s hand. The gods were smiling. A cab awaited them outside on 42nd Street. They made it downtown in record time. In late afternoon, in the bedroom of Lindsey’s brownstone house, while neighbourhood kids played baseball in the street outside, they made love.

  A new kind of love. The sun streaked through the lacy drapes, striping their bodies with its beams as they kissed, twining and curving into each other’s arms. They kissed slowly, tenderly, worshipping. They kissed as if they invented kissing, just for them. As if no one had ever kissed in such a way before or ever would again. Reverently. Sanctifying kisses. Bonding kisses. Giving kisses. Exorcising kisses. For as they licked and sipped and nipped and sucked, as their hands stroked and caressed, reclaimed and relearned, the ghosts of their past slid unnoti
ced out of the door, forever vanquished.

  “I love you, Lindsey,” Jack said, trailing tiny kisses down the taut line of her throat. “I love you,” he said again, gently removing her jacket, her dress, his mouth trailing behind his fingers, soft and warm, sparking stars all over her skin, as if her body was a galaxy he must map.

  She was trembling. Unaccountably nervous, so filled with feeling, she was afraid it would spill over too soon. She plucked at his jacket, his tie, his shirt, fingers shaky and clumsy, desperate for the reassuring heat of his skin. “I love you, Jack,” she murmured, nestling her cheek into the smooth planes of his chest, breathing deep of the scent of him, the essence of him which seemed to emanate from that very spot. “I love you so much.”

  “You couldn’t possibly love me as much as I love you.”

  There was just the hint of a smile in his voice. She looked up. Such a look in his eyes, it made her catch her breath. “Jack.”

  More kissing. Less clothes. He nudged her towards the bed. She lay passive as he removed her underwear, her stockings, still tasting and licking, tracing every vein, joint, curve, crease, dip, and swelling, his fingers so sensitive, his tongue so enticingly delicate, that by the time she was naked her skin was ablaze with light and heat and she felt as if she were floating in a euphoric haze. There wasn’t any bit of her he hadn’t touched except…

  There! A lightning bolt of feeling. He was kneeling on the ground, naked, his mouth pressed between her legs. His tongue licking its way through her slick pinkness with delicious intention. He had never done this before. She had never felt anything like this before. Heavy and languorous, and yet at the same time suddenly sharp and glittering. Every shining part of her body braced itself and gathered itself as the light shivered its way towards the point where there was Jack’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, and her own swelling, throbbing, pulsing glow of a climax building and building and building under his touch.

  Never, never, never had she felt like this before. So certain. So without doubt. She had only to follow where he led and it would happen. His hands coaxed her legs further apart, stroking their way under her to pull her closer to him. She could do nothing but obey, mindless now with wanting. He kissed her, his mouth seeming to envelop her, then his tongue licked slowly, slowly, slowly, building and waiting and then building again, higher and higher and higher, circling and climbing, up and up and up until he seemed to know she was there because it felt as if things came to a swollen point and something inside her thrust through and there she was at the summit and it was heady and she couldn’t breathe but she found enough voice to cry his name, over and over and over. And even before she was aware of the aching need which went with the thundering climax he was on top of her and inside her, every beautiful perfect delightful inch of him. And even as she clutched and pulsed and shivered her climax, that slow sure build started again as he pushed into her and drew out, pushed in and drew, each time a little harder, each time a little faster.

  His chest was damp with sweat. A lock of hair fell over his brow, curling like a question mark. Her legs were twined around his waist, her heels resting on the curve of his buttocks, his hands under her, lifted and angled her. Close, but they could be closer still. His eyes were fixed on hers, not watching but communing. Searing into her, bared and naked for her. She clutched at him, tugged at him, pulling his head down to envelop his mouth with hers.

  Close but not close enough. A burning rod of heat he was, inside her. Forging higher. She arched up against him, moaning as the movement opened up more space for him to fill, and he filled it. She was fearless. She was triumphant. She was flying, and he was there with her. She was not alone. She would never be alone, never again.

  “Jack.”

  His name, just his name, but it was all he needed to hear. “Lindsey. I love you so much, Lindsey.” A thrust, one last hard long impossibly high thrust, and he came, and in their kiss was mingled her name, and she was lit up from the inside so that she glowed as never before and he was free and at the same time forever united, and he had never thought that falling could be so liberating, for she was there with him after all, just as she had promised. To catch him. To hold close. To keep him safe. As he would keep her safe. Tucked into his heart.

  Nothing had ever been like this. Nothing. Ever. Finally, six years after they met, they were one. No gaps. No space. Seamless. Not Lindsey and Jack. Not even husband and wife. Something new. Them. One.

  “I love you,” Jack said, curving her into him, kissing her brow, stroking her closer, so close she could feel his heart bumping against hers.

  “I love you too,” Lindsey said with a sated, sleepy smile. “And when I wake up, I’ll love you even more.”

  And when she woke up, she found it was true. They made love once more, this time a long slow relishing of each other, rocking and sliding into a crescendo which built so gradually its climax took them unawares, whirling them together onto a wholly new plane of sensation, where they glided, entwined, in a state of bliss.

  Outside, dusk had fallen. “I brought you a present,” Jack said. “Let me get it.” He rolled out of bed and retrieved the small box from his jacket pocket. Lindsey was sprawled, delightfully naked on the bed. Her hair was ruffled. Her eyes were slumberous, her skin dusky with the remnants of their passion. “You look like an angel lying there,” he said, “a very, very desirable one.”

  She smiled, her mouth bruised with their kisses, curling up in the slow, sure curve of one who knows she is loved. Jack stood over the bed looking down at her. The little lines at the corners of his eyes had smoothed out. He looked years younger. There was a tiny mark on his shoulder where she had bit him. Amazingly, she felt the stirrings of desire deep inside her again. She allowed her eyes to drift down his body, the muscled torso, the flat stomach, and down. Rather wonderfully, she could see her own stirrings reflected there. He was hardening even as she watched him. “Come back to bed Jack,” she said huskily.

  “Don’t you want your present?”

  She reached out her left hand to touch his shaft, running her hand up its length. Solid now. “Yes I do,” she said with a naughty chuckle, looking at him meaningfully.

  Jack took her hand. He opened the little box, and extracted a stunningly beautiful diamond ring from the dark velvet interior. He slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand, above her wedding band. It fit perfectly. “We never did it properly, did we? I want to do it properly this time.” He dropped gracefully to his knee. “Darling Lindsey, say you’ll be mine, always. Say you’ll be my wife always. And I will promise to love you more every day of our lives. Always.”

  Lindsey blinked away a tear. She pulled him back onto the bed beside her, snuggled tight into him as if she would pull his skin around her. “I love you so much Jack. This time it will be different. I promise.”

  He kissed her tenderly. “Do you like your present?”

  The diamond sparkled and winked at her. “I love it. It’s perfect.” She took a deep breath. “I have a present for you too. Only, it’s not quite ready yet.”

  He tilted up her chin to look deep into her eyes. “Is it another painting? The one you sent me—I never said. It was beautiful. Very sad, but very beautiful. It made me…”

  “Jack, it’s not another painting.”

  A sudden premonition made his heart soar. “How long before it’s ready?”

  Lindsey laid his hand on her stomach. “About six months,” she whispered.

  His smile was one of the purest joy. Though he had thought it impossible, somewhere out there on the horizon, he could sense it. Hope rising like the dawn. A fresh start. He kissed her slowly, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. As she was.

  If you liked this story, look for more Harlequin Historical UNDONE ebooks by Marguerite Kaye now available wherever ebooks are sold:

  The Captain's Wicked Wager

  The Highlander and the Sea Siren

  Bitten by Desire

  Enjoy m
ore passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:

  Unmasking Lady Innocent by Ann Lethbridge

  Summoned for Seduction by Joanne Rock

  To Court, Capture and Conquer by Amanda McCabe

  Her Midnight Cowboy by Lauri Robinson

  The Samurai's Forbidden Touch by Ashley Radcliff

  One Night as a Courtesan by Ann Lethbridge

  The Taming of Mei Lin by Jeannie Lin

  Delight and Desire by Joanna Maitland

  A Scandalous Liaison by Elizabeth Rolls

  Pleasured by the Viking by Michelle Willingham

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  Born and educated in Scotland, Marguerite Kaye originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practice, a decision which was a relief, both to her and the Scottish legal Establishment. While carving out a successful career in IT, she occupied herself with her twin passions of studying history and reading, picking up a first class honours and a Masters degree along the way.

  The course of her life changed dramatically when she found her soul mate. After an idyllic year out, spent travelling round the Mediterranean, Marguerite decided to take the plunge and pursue her life-long ambition to write for a living, a dream she had cherished ever since winning a national poetry competition at the age of nine.

  Just like one of her fictional heroines, Marguerite’s fantasy has become reality. She has published history and travel articles, as well as short stories, but romances are her passion. Marguerite describes Georgette Heyer and Doris Day as her biggest early influences, and her partner as her inspiration.