Tempted By His Kiss

by Tracy Anne Warren

  He relaxed into the new arrangement. “Quite comfortable. Thank you, you’re a good nurse.”

  “And you, my lord, are a typical patient.”

  “I believe I have just been insulted.”

  Her lips curved. “I believe you are right.”

  The coach lurched, forcing her to brace a hand against the back of the coach seat, her arm bowed over him. Cade’s hands came up at the same instant and clasped her around the waist, steadying her against a possible fall.

  Her gaze locked with his own, their faces close enough for her to trace the short fan of his dark lashes and catch the spicy hint of shaving soap that lingered on his cheeks. His eyes lowered, skimming over her mouth in a way that made her lips part beneath the scrutiny of his gaze.

  She drew an inaudible breath, aware of his strong hands clasped around her waist; his touch as delicious as it was disturbing. Her body tingled with memories of the night past—of the way it had felt to lie in his arms; to taste the hot, wet intensity of his kisses; to revel beneath the pure pleasure of his caresses.

  Her legs trembled and she swayed, his hold the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the floor.

  “Are you all right?” he said quietly.

  She tried to answer but couldn’t form the words. Somehow, she forced a nod. But instead of releasing her, he drew her closer, his gaze focused once more on her mouth.

  Suddenly her hand slipped and landed on his chest—the touch of his muscled form, even through his clothing, as shocking as a burn. How easy it would be to let him do as he wished. And what a fool I would be if I let him, she chastised herself, thinking again of the sound of that other woman’s name on his lips.

  Abruptly she pushed away, shoving against him in her haste to be free. Nearly stumbling, she scrambled backward and dropped into her seat.

  “Meg, I—”

  “Are you comfortable, my lord? Is the pain in your leg better now?”

  His brows drew together. “I am quite at my ease.”

  “Good.” Leaning sideways, she opened the small traveling valise she had ignored until now and drew out her stitchery. Laying the cloth on her lap, she bent her head and took up her needle—her actions a clear dismissal.

  For a long moment she felt his gaze on her, fierce and penetrating, as though he were willing her to look at him. Resisting, she selected a strand of ecru silk and threaded it into her needle. Willing herself not to tremble, she took a first stitch.

  He sighed, the sound a mixture of irritation and acceptance. Moments later she heard him take up his book, open it, and settle back to read.

  She and Cade said little to each other the remainder of the day, the hours elapsing in slow drips as the coach made its way toward their first overnight stop.

  Amy, who was traveling in a separate servants’ coach, hurried to attend her the moment they reached the inn, the girl readying a warm bath and a refreshing change of clothes.

  Suitably attired, Meg made her way to the private parlour Cade had secured, accepting the chair across from him before lifting her fork to try a bite of dinner.

  They spoke of insignificant matters throughout the meal, her appetite sadly lacking despite the excellent quality of the fare. For his part, Cade drank more of his dinner than he ate, pushing at the steak and kidney pie on his plate before calling for one of the servants to see it cleared. He ate most of the apple pudding that was served for dessert, while she contented herself with a small wedge of cheese. Then it was time for bed.

  An hour later night poured over her as she lay alone in the unfamiliar room atop an unfamiliar feather tick, unable to sleep. Ever since that moment earlier in the coach, she hadn’t been able to rid herself of a single, nagging question.

  Who is Calida?

  She puzzled over the matter, twisting it—and her emotions—into knots as she pondered the mystery of her rival. Yet not a rival, since Cade Byron was not her lover or her fiancé, despite current appearances.

  The issue was no further resolved in her mind by the time dawn arrived and she rose weary from her bed, having fallen asleep only a handful of hours before. A sponge bath and a quick meal later, she was dressed and in the coach again, back on the road with Cade.

  The moment the coach set off, he slid his spectacles onto his nose and opened his book, his cane angled into one corner for easy access. He was seated upright again, his long legs stretched at a comfortable angle across the floor. His colouring looked better, she noticed, yesterday’s discomfort having obviously eased during the night. At least one of us got a good night’s sleep, she thought with uncharacteristic peevishness.

  Studying him for another long minute, she forced herself to glance away. Reaching over, she dug into her traveling case for a book and began to read, the silence broken only by the rhythmic whir of the coach wheels and the occasional buffeting sound the wind made as it struck the side of the vehicle.

  Yet try as she might, she could not seem to concentrate on her novel, despite the liveliness of the text. After only a few lines her thoughts would begin to drift away so that she was forced to start again with the sentence she’d finished only moments earlier.

  As for Cade, he seemed utterly content, oblivious to the fact that she was seething inside with barely controlled emotion. But then why would he know? Why would he sense her distress when by his own admission he only remembered bits and pieces of the night she’d come to his room?

  “Who is Calida?” she asked, the words out of her mouth before she’d even known they had formed on her tongue.

  His hands tightened on his book, his head jerking upward from the pages. “What did you say?”

  The question stuck in her throat, but she forced it out again. “I…I asked wh-who Calida is.”

  “Where did you hear that name?” he said on a harsh rasp.

  She shivered at the suddenly stark expression on his face, his eyes turned to fragments of cold green glass. Abruptly, she wished she hadn’t asked at all, hadn’t felt the need to satisfy her curiosity and assuage her injured sensibilities.

  “Well?” he ordered, his quietly spoken demand as fierce as a shout.

  Meg jumped. “I—I heard it from you. You said it the night we…when you…when you were having your nightmare.”

  Some of the ice left his gaze; the bleakness, however, remained. “I see. I suppose I said a great many things that night.”

  “No, not so many,” she hurried to assure him. “A few.”

  But enough to make me wonder what you suffered, she thought.

  Closing his book, he set it on the seat next to his hip. A moment later he pulled off his glasses, neatly folded the earpieces closed, and laid them on top of the book’s fine leather binding. Turning his head, he stared out the window.

  One minute went by, then two. She didn’t think he was going to answer when finally he turned back.

  “Calida was a girl I knew in Portugal,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “She was my fiancée.”

  “Oh!” Her heart kicked inside her chest, the news drawing forth a sharp exhalation. She’d expected him to admit that the woman was his lover. She hadn’t expected to hear she was also his beloved.

  Does he pine for her still? She wondered. Of course he must, she realized, knowing now why he was so opposed to the notion of marriage.

  “Where is she now?” she ventured quietly. “You said ‘was.’ What happened?”

  His gaze met hers. “She’s dead. Raped and tortured by the French in hopes of extracting information from me. They murdered her family as well, her parents and two little brothers. The youngest one was six. He couldn’t have known anything of value, but they slit his throat just the same.”

  Meg gasped, pressing a fist against her mouth to hold in the horror.

  He touched a pair of fingers to his cravat and the scar they both knew lay beneath. “You must have wondered where I got this. And this, as well,” he continued, lowering his hand to his damaged leg. “Courtesy of the s
ame men who brutalized Calida and her family. She died because of me. Was savaged because of me. Now, Miss Amberley, is there anything else you would like to know?”

  She shook her head, her pulse racing in her veins, the truth worse than anything she could ever have contemplated. No wonder he couldn’t sleep at night. No wonder he tried to dull the pain with liquor and laudanum and quietude. In similar circumstances, she might well have wished to do so, too.

  As a woman raised beneath the shelter of her father’s protective wing, she had been kept away from such harsh realities despite having grown up among military men. Of course, she’d known brutalities existed, had heard terrible accounts, but Cade’s story made her realize just how safe her life had always been, how cosseted and innocent she really was.

  Calida, the girl Cade loved, had not been so lucky.

  Lowering her hands onto her lap, she gazed at him with beseeching eyes. “I am sorry.”

  He gave her a nod and reached for his spectacles, setting them on his face. “I would rather we not speak of this again.”

  “Yes, Lord Cade. As you wish.”

  Picking up his book, he opened it and resumed his reading.

  She sighed and wished she could do the same, but knew she would never be able to concentrate on the story she had been trying to read. Instead she gazed out the window at the frozen hills and bare-branched trees that stretched out on either side of the road, both as cold and grey as the day itself.

  Suddenly she was very glad Cade had insisted on a temporary engagement rather than acting the honourable gentleman and insisting they wed for propriety’s sake. Not that she would have agreed to marry him under such circumstance. But now that she knew the truth, she realized the danger that awaited any woman unwise enough to covet his regard. More than his body had been damaged in his service to his country. It would seem his heart had been lost as well. Perhaps in time it would heal. But what if it did not? What if the wounds were too deep to ever let him love fully again?

  Not that I am at risk of such folly, she reassured herself. At best Cade and I are friends. At worst co-conspirators in a mutual deception. Once their fraud was complete, they would each be able to walk away, free and unencumbered.

  As for their night together, she would put it from her mind. He barely remembered half of it anyway, and she would find a way to make herself do so as well.

  Somehow, in the weeks to come, she promised herself, she would cease this physical attraction she had for Cade and find another man—one who had a whole heart to give. For after all, what woman would want to love a man who might never be able to love her back?

  CHAPTER 9

  “Cade, you’re home!” came a feminine shout as he walked into the family drawing room of Clybourne House four days later.

  Planting his cane on the Aubusson carpet, he braced himself for the impact as his sister flung herself headlong into his arms. He returned her exuberant hug and kiss, wavering on his feet for a moment.

  “Oh, stars!” Mallory said, keeping her hands on his coat sleeves to steady him as she pulled back. “I didn’t think about your leg. I haven’t hurt you, have I? I would never forgive myself if I had.”

  Cade shook his head and gave her a wink. “Not to worry, Pell-Mell. You weigh barely more than a feather, so I’m in no danger of injury.”

  She smiled, relief plain in her lively aquamarine eyes. “We had your note but did not know quite when you’d arrive. Mama has arranged a special dinner for this evening and asked Cook to prepare all your favourite dishes. I saw the fishmonger arrive this morning with shrimps. Yum.”

  She paused, but only long enough to take a breath before continuing. “How was your trip? Long and dull, I suppose. Such journeys are always tedious by the second day, are they not? And what is this about you bringing a surprise? It’s very bad of you to drop something like that into a letter and leave everyone in suspense. I’ve been wondering if—Oh!”

  She broke off and stared past his shoulder toward the room’s double doors. “My pardon. I did not realize we had company. Why did you not say?”

  “I was going to do so, but someone wouldn’t stop talking.”

  Mallory shot him a fulminating look that made him smile. He turned to see Meg, who stood just inside the doorway, then motioned her forward.

  Despite being simply attired in a mourning gown of grey wool, Meg looked anything but plain, her complexion glowing with healthy colour, her ash blond hair pinned into a neat chignon that framed her beautiful features. Her gaze met his as she stopped beside him, discomfort she was doing her best to hide visible in her lake blue eyes.

  She’s nervous about putting on this act of ours, Cade thought, but everything will be fine. Taking her hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “Meg, allow me to introduce you to my sister. Mallory, this is Miss Margaret Am—”

  “Cade!”

  They all turned as an elegant woman swept into the room, the hem of her peach silk skirts whispering around her ankles. “Croft just informed me of your arrival, else I would have been here sooner,” she said as she came up to Cade. Opening her arms, she drew him close. “Oh, it is so good to have you here.”

  “I have missed you, too, Mama,” he replied, bending to dust a kiss over her soft cheek. Her brown hair bore a few extra strands of silver in it, he noticed, added since the last time he had seen her. Otherwise, the gentle oval of her face and clear green eyes were the same as he remembered from his youth.

  “If you did,” she remarked in a light scold, “you ought to have come to Braebourne with your brother when he came to collect you. But you’ve always had that stubborn streak of your father’s. It is a dominant trait among all the Byron men, I have discovered.”

  “Well, what is it they say of us, Mama?” Cade remarked. “That we Byrons are all rakes, madmen, or rogues. So I suppose it is only natural I would refuse to do the expected.”

  Before he could step back, she laid a palm against his cheek and studied his face. “You look better. Still too thin and pale for my liking, but much improved from when you were last home.”

  She lowered her hand and glanced across at Meg. “Now, before this lovely young woman—whoever she may be—decides that Byrons are also unforgivably rude, I believe you should effect introductions.”

  He moved again to Meg’s side. “With pleasure. Mama, Mallory, allow me to present Miss—”

  “I thought I heard a racket in the house,” a new voice—masculine this time—interrupted. “But I figured it was Drake or Jack come to stir up some new round of havoc or other. Fancy my surprise at finding you here.”

  Cade looked across at his older brother. “You had my letter. I know, since Mallory told me.”

  “We did, but I figured it must be a ruse. The last time we met, I believe you vowed nothing but a rocket would blast you out of that northern clime of yours.” Edward’s keen gaze fixed briefly on Meg. “I see your rocket arrived—and a vastly pretty munition she is, too.”

  A grin spread over Cade’s face as he stepped forward and met Edward for a brotherly, back-slapping hug.

  “So, who is she?” Edward murmured as they eased apart, a gleam of undisguised curiosity in his shrewd, dark blue eyes.

  “You shall see,” Cade whispered back.

  Of all the family members he and Meg would have the most trouble convincing of their lies, Cade knew it was Edward. His brother had taken top honours at both Eton and Oxford, and was a formidable presence in both Society and the House of Lords. As Cade had long ago learned, not much got by his brother, the duke.

  Returning to Meg’s side for a third time, Cade once again took her hand. A faint tremble went through her, nerves he felt certain no one but himself could see.

  “Shall we try this again? Meg, allow me to present my sister, Lady Mallory Byron; my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Clybourne; and my brother Edward, the Duke of Clybourne. Everyone, this is Miss Margaret Amberley, my fiancée!”

  A heavy silence descended. Des
pite the lull, Meg drew a steadying breath, bent her knees and dropped into a curtsey, as good manners dictated. As she did, she was fully aware of the collection of stunned, goggle-eyed looks Cade’s family members were casting her way.

  Staring at the toes of her brown leather half-boots, she rallied her determination, knowing if she and Cade had any hope of perpetrating their deception, this was the time. If they could convince his family, they should have no difficulty convincing Society as well.

  Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin and affected what she hoped was an expression of pleasant yet quiet confidence.

  “Fiancée, did you say?” repeated his mother, her green eyes moving between her and Cade. “But how did this occur? Where in the world did you meet? Surely not in Northumberland? There hasn’t been time.”

  The duke folded his arms over his chest, his figure tall and imposing, as he waited for a response. He raised one of his dark brows in an arrogant gesture that reminded her forcefully of Cade at his worst. What had he said about his brother not biting?

  Cade laid a hand on her waist. Gratefully, she leaned against his supporting strength.

  “Meg and I met under the most unusual of circumstances,” he stated. “She was traveling north and got caught in a snowstorm. She came to the manor in search of shelter and we ended up snowbound together. By the time the weather cleared enough for her to depart, I could no longer let her go. She completely stole my heart. And I stole hers as well—or so she tells me.”

  Glancing up at Cade, she met his gaze, startled to see his eyes filled with emotion—so intense she might have believed his words herself had she not known them for the falsehood they were.

  “Is that not right, sweetheart?” he urged, tugging her against him.

  “Yes,” she said softly, unable to look away. “Yes, he has quite swept me off my feet.”

  “Oh, how incredibly romantic!” Mallory sighed, clasping her hands against her breasts. “And how wonderful that I am to have a new sister. You promised us a surprise, Cade, and what a splendid one this is!” Hurrying forward, she rushed to envelop each of them in a jubilant embrace.