Pure Temptation

by Connie Mason

  “Practical be damned! I fancied myself in love with the girl, Spence. She was untouched until I took her virginity. She refused to marry me. I became enraged and demanded that she become my mistress. I even went out and leased a house for her. I planned to set her up in grand style. In my anger, I even convinced myself that I didn’t really want a wife, that Moira would make a far better mistress.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I should have known Moira couldn’t accept my terms. She’s too proud to live as a kept woman, so she left.”

  Digging into his pocket, he pulled out Moira’s locket and turned it over and over in his fingers. It still held the warmth of his flesh. He sprung the lock and squinted at the miniature inside.

  “What’s that?” Spence asked curiously.

  “Moira’s locket. The chain broke, and Matilda found it after Moira left.”

  “May I see it?”

  Jack tossed it to him with studied indifference. Spence caught it deftly and held it to the light. He gazed thoughtfully at the faded image of a young man, his brows furrowed in concentration. “I swear I’ve seen this very same picture before, only on a grander scale.”

  Jack shook his head to clear it. He regretted having taken that first drink tonight. Alcohol never solved a damn thing. It had taken him nearly thirty years to come to that conclusion.

  “Are you sure? Think, man! I don’t know what this will mean to Moira, but it has to be important or she wouldn’t carry an image of the man. Take it and see what you can find out. The man is wearing an English army uniform; that should help.”

  Spence pocketed the locket and sent him an oblique look. “Damn it, Jack, you’re head over heels for the girl, aren’t you?”

  “I might have been at one time. Now I don’t know what I feel,” Jack admitted bleakly. “I’ve never felt this way before—as if I’ve been chewed up and spit out. Bloody hell! I have this urge to lose myself in sweet-scented woman’s flesh.”

  Spence grinned in perfect understanding. This was the Jack he knew and admired. “I know just the place. Madame Fifi has the best girls in town, but of course you know that.”

  “It won’t work,” Jack said regretfully. “Victoria was more than willing, but my mind utterly rejected the notion. Not to mention my flesh, which shriveled at the thought of bedding Victoria, or any other woman. My God, Spence, Moira has bloody well emasculated me! If I didn’t know better, I’d think she put an Irish curse on me. You saw me at the gaming table tonight—I couldn’t do anything right. Whiskey tastes like ashes, and fine brandy turns sour in my mouth.”

  Spence shook his head in commiseration. “You’re in a bad way, mate. Go to bed. You’ll feel more the thing after a good night’s sleep. In the meantime, I’ll try to find out what I can about the man in the miniature.”

  Jack ignored Spence’s advice. Instead of going to bed as his friend suggested, he sprawled in a chair before the dying fire and continued to swill brandy. Pettibone found him there shortly after dawn, his head slumped against his chest and a broken glass lying on the floor beside him. Pettibone sighed and shook his head. It was just like old times, he thought sadly, when Jack had returned home after a night of carousing too foxed to get himself to bed. Unfolding an afghan that lay on a nearby bench, he carefully covered Jack and tiptoed out of the study.

  Closing the door quietly behind him, Pettibone looked around cautiously and whispered into the darkness, “If you’re watching over him, Lady Amelia, I implore you to do something. I had such hopes for His Grace.” Breaking off abruptly and looking embarrassed at addressing someone or something that might or might not exist, he walked away with all the dignity he could muster. It wouldn’t do to be found pleading with a ghost.

  Moira felt ill the moment the Emerald Queen left London Pool. The days she spent in the tiny, airless cabin were among the most miserable she’d ever encountered. She couldn’t understand why. She had thoroughly enjoyed the sea voyage from Ireland to England, so why was she sick now? Both the English Channel and the Irish Sea were calm and the air balmy for late summer, but she had vomited continually, mostly in the morning. By the time the packet docked at Rossiare Harbor, she was so weak she could barely stand.

  Setting her feet on dry land helped somewhat, but not entirely. Lugging her single piece of baggage, Moira located the freight office and bought a ticket to Kilkenny on a public conveyance. It took all the meager coins left in her reticule, leaving Moira no money with which to purchase a bite of breakfast. Not that she was all that hungry. Her stomach still churned, and the green tinge around her lips attested to her early morning illness.

  The public coach was crowded, and Moira squeezed in between an enormous woman carrying a basket of food and a priest whose thin lips moved in constant prayer. Moira couldn’t remember the trip to Kilkenny being so long. Though the fat woman talked constantly, Moira heard little of what she said. When she kindly offered Moira a greasy sausage from her basket, the smell alone made her gag. Yet it was a food Moira had enjoyed enormously in the past. She could find no explanation for her delicate stomach and concentrated on holding further sickness at bay.

  The coach rolled into Kilkenny in the waning hours of afternoon. Both the priest and the woman were going on to Carlow, and Moira bid them both good-bye and hurried off. Having spent her entire life in the area, Moira knew the village well, so she wasn’t surprised when she was greeted by name by shopkeepers and townspeople.

  “So yer back, are ye, lass?” the grocer called as she walked by his shop. “Yer brother will be glad of it.”

  “I hope so, Mr. Hurlehey,” Moira called back, giving a little wave as she passed by. She still had five miles to walk before reaching her brother’s farm, and her bag was getting heavier by the minute.

  “Wait, lass, are ye goin’ ta walk all the way?”

  Moira stopped and looked back. “Aye. Kevin didn’t know I was coming, so he won’t be here to meet me.”

  “If ye wait until I’ve done up this order for Mrs. Bailey, I’ll take ye in me wagon. Her place is near yours, and I can swing by and drop ye off when I deliver her order.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Hurlehey.”

  A short time later, Moira was seated beside Mr. Hurlehey on the unsprung seat of his wagon, listening to his recitation of all that had transpired in her absence. “Too bad about Kayla McGuire,” he lamented, shaking his gray head. “The fever took her not two weeks after ye left. Left her husband with two babes still in nappies.”

  “Oh, no,” Moira said, aghast. “Poor Paddy. However is he managing?” Kayla and Paddy were the O’Tooles’ closest neighbors. Somewhat older and more down-to-earth than Kayla, Paddy was a perfect foil for his spirited wife. Moira knew Paddy must be devastated by his wife’s death.

  “Paddy’s mother is looking after the babes, but she’s too old and sickly for it, and Paddy knows it. Rumor has it he’s looking for a wife.”

  “I hope he finds one soon,” Moira said with a hint of compassion. She was genuinely fond of Paddy and hated to see his two young children grow up motherless.

  “We’re nearly there,” Mr. Hurlehey said as they drove down the rutted lane leading to the O’Toole farm. When the sturdy stone structure came into sight, Moira suddenly realized how much she had missed not just the place, but the people who lived there.

  Kevin came from the barn when he heard the rattle of wheels and the clip-clop of hooves. The wagon had barely pulled to a stop when Kevin recognized Moira and started running. Jumping down from the seat, Moira rushed to meet him, falling into his arms with a sob of pure joy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once Kevin got over the shock of seeing Moira, he led her into the stone cottage that had been their home since their birth. Kevin’s wife Katie was bending over the stove, her belly big with child. The children—Allie, Mary and Liam—were seated at the table doing their letters when Moira walked into the big cheerful kitchen.

  “Moira!” the children cried in unison as the
y crowded around her.

  Kissing each one in turn, Moira couldn’t have asked for a grander welcome. Her homecoming was tempered only by the aching sadness of leaving the man she loved.

  “Why didn’t you write and tell me you were coming?” Kevin chided. “I would have met your ship. Are you home for good, then?”

  Moira nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “You look terrible,” Katie exclaimed in dismay. “Sit down. I’ll fix you a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll be fine now that I’m on dry land again,” Moira said dismissively as she eyed Katie’s protruding stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in the family way before I left?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you, dear,” Katie said gently. She sent Kevin a tender look. “We’re hoping for another boy.”

  “We missed you, Auntie Moira,” Allie said, hugging Moira tightly. Red-haired and green-eyed, Allie was five and the demonstrative one of the family. Mary was seven, a shy, quiet beauty with dark auburn hair and golden brown eyes very much like Moira’s. Liam was the oldest and took his responsibility seriously.

  “And I missed you, love,” Moira replied, giving the children another hug before dropping down into the nearest chair.

  “You’re exhausted,” Katie said astutely. “Are you sure you’re well?”

  “Now that Katie’s mentioned it, you don’t look good,” Kevin said worriedly. “What happened in England? You should have stayed home where we can take care of you. We may be poor, but we’re not destitute.”

  “You worry too much, Kevin,” Moira said, brushing aside his concern. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  “Go outside and play, children,” Kevin said, sensing Moira’s reticence to speak frankly before them. “Lessons are over for today.”

  Glad to escape the dreary world of letters and numbers, the children fled out the door. The moment they disappeared from sight, Kevin turned to Moira.

  “Would you like to tell me about it, lass? Something is bothering you. What happened in England?”

  “Give Moira a chance to catch her breath and rest,” Katie said, sensing Moira’s distress. “Questions can come later. Liam took over your old room, but he can move into the loft. Go on up, dear. I’ll brew you a nice cup of tea and bring it to you later.”

  “You’re too good to me,” Moira said, very close to tears. “I wanted to help out so badly, but things didn’t work out like I planned.”

  “They never do,” Kevin said astutely. “Things will look brighter after a bit of a rest.”

  Moira thought differently but held her tongue. Kevin had enough problems without taking hers on. The man she loved wasn’t who she thought he was. Why couldn’t Jack understand her refusal to marry him was for his own good? Why did he have to spoil everything by demanding that she become his mistress?

  Moira rose unsteadily. “You’re right, brother, I do need a rest. We’ll talk later.” Her stomach was churning again, and this time there was no movement beneath her feet to explain it. Perhaps she was ill.

  “What do you think happened?” Kevin asked once Moira had left the room. “I was against Moira leaving in the first place, but you know how stubborn the lass can be.” His golden brown eyes turned dark with worry.

  Katie stretched, placing her hands at the small of her back to ease her burden. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet it involves a man.”

  Kevin stared at her, aghast. “A man? Our little Moira? She never expressed interest in any man before.”

  “Our little Moira is a woman,” Katie reminded him. “Only time will tell what’s troubling her.”

  Jack tried his level best to maintain his reputation as a rakehell. He flirted outrageously, drank prodigiously and lost so much money at cards that Spence began to think his friend was possessed. Even Pettibone, long accustomed to his employer’s decadent ways, became alarmed at Jack’s accelerated journey to perdition. He and Matilda discussed it at length and came to the conclusion that Jack didn’t give a tinker’s damn what became of him. Obviously he was mourning Moira and too stubborn to do anything about it.

  Jack couldn’t muster the energy to care about his backslide to perdition. The only thing that truly angered him was his inability to raise sufficient interest in a woman to bed her. He flirted, stole kisses in dark corners and made appropriately suggestive remarks. But nothing stirred him. Consequently, he turned more and more to the soothing oblivion found at the bottom of a bottle. And cards. Drunk or sober, his losses at the gaming tables became the talk of the town. Since he now had plenty of money to gamble away, Jack paid little heed to the amount of his losses.

  Spence had warned him that he’d soon fritter away the Ailesbury fortune, but even that failed to hinder his compulsive, irresponsible behavior. He was short with Pettibone, disagreeable to almost everyone and nearly consumed with self-loathing. During this time Lady Amelia’s ghost, whether out of anger or disgust, failed to materialize. Jack assumed she had given up on him, and he thought it was about time.

  Moira did her utmost to help out wherever she could but was aware that she wasn’t the same girl who had left the farm several months ago. Easing Katie’s burden was her main concern, and to that end she did most of the cooking and helped with the children. As the days passed and her strange illness persisted, Moira began looking seriously at her symptoms and didn’t like what she discovered. It seemed she wasn’t the only one concerned over her physical condition. After observing Moira for several days, noting her morning pallor and her general malaise, Katie came to a conclusion that both shocked and frightened her. One day when everyone was out of the house save for her and Moira, she broached the subject.

  “Moira, dear, we haven’t really talked about what happened in England. You’ve been so reticent about it since your return. Kevin and I both love you; you can tell us anything. There is a man involved, isn’t there?”

  “Aye,” Moira admitted sadly. “It’s worse than either you or Kevin could imagine. You’ll be so disappointed in me.”

  “We love you, Moira. We’re not going to judge you. Would you like to tell me what happened? Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

  Moira bowed her head. “I can’t.”

  Not one to mince words, Katie gave voice to her fears. “Are you in the family way?”

  “Oh, God, how did you know? I wasn’t aware of it myself until just recently.”

  “I’ve been pregnant four times,” Katie reminded her.

  “You must hate me,” Moira said with a hint of despair.

  Katie took Moira in her arms, rocking her against her ample bosom. “No, dear, we could never do that. Did he seduce you? Is he married? Did he abandon you after he ruined you?”

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t like that at all. I love him. He literally saved my life. He did propose, but I refused him. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that I was expecting his child.”

  “You could go back and tell him. Surely he’d do the right thing by you. I don’t understand why you refused him if you love him. What kind of man is he?”

  “I can’t marry him,” Moira explained. “I love him too much to attach scandal to his name. He’s a duke, Katie. I’m not his social equal. Imagine the uproar that marrying an Irish commoner would cause. When I turned him down, he became angry and demanded that I become his mistress.” A sob left her throat. “I can’t believe how hateful he acted.”

  “What man dared to ask my little sister to become his mistress?” Kevin thundered. Katie and Moira had been so engrossed in their conversation that they weren’t aware Kevin had entered the kitchen in time to hear part of Moira’s confession. His face was mottled with rage, and his huge hands were doubled into fists, just itching to pound his sister’s tormentor into the ground. “Is that what’s been troubling you, Moira? What has the bastard done to you?”

  Her face as white as the apron she wore, Moira whirled to face her brother. “Oh, Kevin, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

  �
�Find out what? Tell me the name of the bastard who seduced my little sister.”

  Moira sighed in resignation. The fat was in the fire now. She had to tell Kevin that she was pregnant. He’d find out sooner or later anyway. According to her calculations, she’d become pregnant the first time she and Jack had made love. But nothing, absolutely nothing, would drag Jack’s name from her.

  “That’s not the way it happened, Kevin. I was willing. Please don’t hate me. I fell in love and couldn’t help myself.”

  “You’re young and inexperienced; I don’t blame you. The bastard took advantage of you. Chalk it up as a bad experience. One day you’ll meet a good Irishman and forget about the English whoreson.”

  “It’s not going to be that easy,” Moira whispered, knowing what she was about to say would hurt Kevin deeply. “I…I’m pregnant.”

  Kevin exploded in rage. “Sweet Virgin! I’ll kill him! I’ll see that he marries you first, then I’ll kill him.”

  “You don’t understand, Kevin. He did offer to marry me. I refused.”

  Kevin looked at her blankly. “What in God’s holy name is wrong with you? You said you loved the man—what more do you need?” Suddenly Kevin went still. “He’s married, isn’t he?”

  “No, he isn’t married. He’s a duke; he can’t marry an Irish commoner.”

  “Are you forgetting that your bloodlines may be every bit as good as his?”

  “Neither of us can prove that, Kevin. We have only Mother’s word.”

  “You have the locket. We’ve just never had the opportunity to pursue the identity of the man. ’Tis likely he’s our grandfather.”

  “Perhaps,” Moira allowed uncertainly. “Unfortunately, I no longer have the locket. I lost it.”

  Kevin groaned in dismay. “Are you determined then not to marry the father of your child?”

  “Aye. I don’t think he’d have me now. I hurt his pride. We both said some brutal things. But I want this baby,” Moira said fiercely.