Pure Temptation

by Connie Mason

  “’Tis no big thing, love. We’re doing this for your sake, not mine. A farmer’s daughter is good enough for me.”

  “Aye, and being a farmer is all I ever aspired to,” Kevin agreed. “If this proves to be a wild-goose chase, I’ll not be disappointed.”

  Lord Pembroke’s ancestral home was a medieval manor constructed on the grand scale of an ancient stone fortress with crenellated walls and several towers. They rode through the open gates to the main entrance, which was protected by a huge, wooden door richly carved and fitted with brass. They descended from the carriage the moment the steps were lowered and approached the portal. Jack gave Moira’s cold hand a squeeze, then lifted the heavy knocker. A few moments later, the door was thrown open by an ancient footman dressed meticulously in black and silver.

  “Lord Pembroke is waiting in the library,” he intoned dryly. “Please follow me.”

  It was too late now to turn back, Moira thought as she drew in a deep, steadying breath. Either she was Lord Pembroke’s granddaughter or she wasn’t. For Jack’s sake, she hoped she was. The butler opened the door, and she clutched her locket as Jack led her and Kevin inside a room that would have been depressing if not for the cheery fire burning in the grate.

  Lord Pembroke rose from his chair before the fire and turned toward his visitors. Jack strode forward and took the man’s hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. Jack Graystoke, Duke of Ailesbury. This is my wife Moira and her brother Kevin.”

  Though well into his seventies, the earl was still an impressive man in both manner and looks. Silver-haired and sharp-witted, he was slim and elegant still. Only his slightly bent shoulders and extreme thinness gave subtle hint to his age and state of health.

  The earl stared hard at Moira for the space of a heartbeat, nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to Jack. “I must admit I’m curious to know why you wished an interview. Please sit down and join me. I was about to enjoy a brandy. I’ll order tea for your lady, if that’s agreeable.”

  Moira flushed, certain that Lord Pembroke’s sharp-eyed gaze had noted her pregnancy.

  A servant entered directly with three glasses, a bottle and a pot of tea. The earl poured, took a sip of his own brandy, sat back and said, “Shall we get down to the reason for your visit?”

  “Of course,” Jack said. “I wish you to understand that we are not here to pry into your past but to clear up something very important to my wife and brother-in-law.” Pembroke frowned but said nothing. “Somewhere in your past, were you ever acquainted with an Irish woman named Sheila Malone?”

  Pembroke choked and the brandy spewed from his mouth. “My God, man, do you know how far back you’re asking me to delve? Or the painful memories you’re dredging up?”

  “Then you did know her!” Kevin all but shouted.

  Pembroke’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of Sheila? I never thought I’d hear that name again. Do you know how long I searched for her? No,” he answered, shaking his head, “you couldn’t possibly know. You’re far too young.”

  With shaking hands, Moira removed the locket from around her neck and handed it to Lord Pembroke. “Open it, milord, and tell me if you recognize the man in the miniature.”

  Releasing the latch, Pembroke stared at the miniature. His hands trembled and he paled, plainly shaken by what he saw. “’Tis the miniature I had done for Sheila. How did you come by this?”

  “My mother gave it to me. It belonged to her own mother. Sheila died giving birth to a daughter.”

  Pembroke stared at her, his keen perception sorting through the facts. “Did Sheila marry well?”

  “She didn’t marry at all. Her parents disowned her after they learned she carried a child out of wedlock. She ended up in a convent, where she died giving birth. The nuns raised her daughter to adulthood. Sheila died without ever mentioning the name of her child’s father. The nuns later told my mother that her father abandoned them.”

  Pembroke came out of his chair. “My God! I looked everywhere for Sheila.” He began pacing. “I was young and reckless when I joined the army and was sent to Ireland. I met Sheila, fell in love and intended to make her my wife. A bullet put an end to my hopes and dreams. I was wounded during an uprising and not expected to live. I was sent home to England to die. ’Tis a miracle that I lived. Months passed before I could return to Ireland and tell Sheila what happened.

  “I was devastated when I couldn’t find her. Her parents refused to talk about her. It was as if she didn’t exist for them. Finally, I had to return to England. My father was ill and I could linger no longer. Years passed before I gave up on her and married a woman of my acquaintance.” He stared at Moira and his expression softened. “You look like her, you know.”

  Moira smiled. “I’m glad. No one knew what my grandmother looked like.”

  “She was beautiful, just like you.” Sighing heavily, Pembroke sank down into his chair and stared pensively at his tented fingers. “So I have a daughter. Tell me about her. Did she come to England with you?”

  “Both our parents died of a fever,” Kevin explained. “Mother’s name was Mary. She was lovely. She died far too young.”

  Pembroke looked on the verge of weeping as he shifted his gaze to the window and stared at nothing in particular. “Had I known I had a daughter, I could have made life easier for her. Had I known…Had I only known…”

  He looked so utterly lost, so utterly defeated that Moira rose and knelt before him. “Are you all right, milord? We didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories. I know your health isn’t robust. Perhaps we should leave.”

  “Leave?” His gaze settled on Moira, then moved to Kevin. “I’m sorry if I seem shaken, but I can’t allow you to leave. Not yet. I may have lost Sheila and Mary, but I still have Mary’s children.” He gestured toward Jack. “Do you realize, Ailesbury, that these two are my sole living heirs?”

  Moira felt a surge of jubilation that went beyond mere happiness. Her father’s family had always been dear to her, but it meant a great deal to know that she and Kevin also had roots elsewhere.

  “That’s not why we’re here, milord,” Kevin said. His chin tilted at a stubborn angle, his pride too fierce to allow him to accept charity.

  Pembroke smiled. “Do I detect a portion of Pembroke pride in your demeanor?”

  “You’ll not find Kevin lacking in pride,” Jack allowed. “Nor his sister. Moira seems to have inherited pride and stubbornness in abundance. Thank God I finally convinced her to marry me.”

  “Thank God you cared enough to solve the mystery of her identity. I owe you a debt of gratitude, Ailesbury. As for Kevin and Moira, I’d like to get to know them better. As my sole male heir, Kevin will inherit the title one day. His children will be lords and ladies. And Moira will share equally in the bounty of my estate.”

  Kevin gave him an uncertain look. “I’m a farmer, milord. I know nothing of lords and ladies.”

  “You’ll learn. Are you married, my boy?”

  Kevin sent him a genuine smile. “Aye. My Katie and I have three lively children and another on the way.”

  Pembroke shook his head, unable to believe he had gone from a lonely old man living in virtual seclusion to a man rich in heirs. If his judgment wasn’t faulty, and he doubted it was, it looked as if Moira and Ailesbury would soon present him with another great-grandchild.

  “You and your family must move to Pembroke Hall immediately. Children will liven up this old place, I warrant. And Ailesbury must promise to bring Moira regularly to visit. I’ll send out an announcement to the newspapers immediately. I want the whole world to know that you and Moira are my heirs.”

  “That’s not necessary, milord,” Kevin said. “I wanted to know about our maternal ancestors for my mother’s sake. It would have meant a great deal to her to know that we have finally found our English roots.”

  “I insist. How soon can you move out here?”

  Kevin looked thoroughly bewildered. Everything was moving too fast for him. “I promi
sed Lord Jack that I’d move to Ailesbury Hall and keep an eye on the place for him. He prefers Graystoke Manor in London.”

  “Ailesbury Hall is available should you wish to live there,” Jack said. “I can’t blame Lord Pembroke for wanting to get to know his heir. The choice is yours, Kevin.”

  “And I will certainly visit often if…Grandfather wishes it,” Moira said shyly.

  The earl beamed, looking years younger than when they’d arrived. “You don’t know how much that title means to me. Thank you, granddaughter, for honoring me in such a manner.” He held out his arms, and Moira moved unerringly into them.

  They left a short time later, after the earl received Kevin’s promise to bring his family to Pembroke Hall the following week for an extended visit. Later, in the privacy of his chapel, the old earl gave humble thanks to his maker for granting him the joy of knowing his grandchildren and great-grandchildren in his declining years. He felt years younger than he had even twenty years ago.

  Moira felt the weight of loneliness after Kevin and his family departed for Pembroke Hall. Kevin had asked her to join them, but she was reluctant to leave Jack, even though he spent long hours at his office with his man of business. Taking over the reins of the dukedom was a complicated affair, occupying a great deal of Jack’s time. Moira couldn’t have borne it if she didn’t know that when Jack returned he’d devote all his attention upon her. At night, they closed themselves in their bedchamber and forgot the world existed. Her growing girth did nothing to dampen Jack’s ardor, for which Moira was eternally grateful, as they delved more deeply into the realm of sensual pleasure.

  During those blissful days, Moira worried that she was too content for it to last and feared something unforeseen would interfere with her happiness. Fortunately, her grandfather’s notice in the newspaper had eased her entrance into society. Invitations were arriving daily, though they had as yet to accept any of them, but still Moira was troubled. She kept recalling the face in the crowd she’d seen at the docks. She knew she was imagining things, but Roger Mayhew’s face had been so clearly defined that she kept seeing his malevolent sneer everywhere she turned.

  She deliberately refrained from confiding in Jack, realizing how foolish she’d appear when he proved her fears groundless. Instead, Moira tried to immerse herself in the renovation of Graystoke Manor and observing the growing affection between the dour Pettibone and Matilda.

  “Would you like to visit Lord Pembroke again?” Jack asked one day before he left for another endless consultation with his man of business. “We can go out on Friday and spend a few days with him and Kevin. You must be missing the children something fierce.”

  “Oh, Jack, can we?” Moira enthused, throwing her arms around his neck. “Kate’s time is drawing near. I’d like to be there when her child is born.”

  Jack kissed her soundly. “If I’d known you’d be so grateful, I would have suggested it while we were still abed. There’s still time to…” His half-finished suggestion hung in the air like a fragrant spring day.

  “Get on with you,” Moira said, blushing prettily. “I knew I’d married a man with amazing stamina, but you’re surpassing your own record.”

  “Few men are fortunate enough to encounter the pure temptation of a delicious little body like yours. And your face. God help me, Moira, for I can’t help myself. Every day I want you more. I just wish I could thank Lady Amelia for throwing you into my path. Unfortunately, the lady hasn’t reappeared.”

  Moira sent him a laughing glance. The Irish were known to believe in faeries and sprites and little people, but she’d always remained skeptical. “I’m sure your elusive ancestor knows everything that’s occurred.”

  “Indeed,” Jack replied, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected the elusive lady to appear at his elbow. “If I can’t entice you back to bed, I suppose I should leave.” He kissed her with the fervor of a desperate man and reluctantly departed. Neither Jack nor Moira saw the man lurking in the shadow of the building, or his satisfied smirk when he saw Jack leaving.

  It was a full two hours later when Pettibone answered the door and found a grubby urchin standing on the doorstep.

  “Beggars are fed at the back door,” Pettibone said with a sniff.

  “I ain’t a beggar,” the lad said, swiping his dripping nose against his dirty sleeve. “I got a message for Her Ladyship.”

  “A message? What kind of a message?”

  “There’s been an accident. His Lordship has been hurt,” the lad repeated in a voice that hinted of coaching. “His friend is waitin’ in the coach to take the duchess to His Lordship.”

  Moira walked into the foyer in time to hear the lad’s words. “An accident! Dear Lord, how badly is Jack hurt? Where is he?”

  “Don’t know, milady. The nob in the coach paid me to give you the message. He’s waitin’ to take ya to his lordship.”

  “It must be Spence,” Moira said, all reasoning leaving her as she hurried out the door toward the waiting coach.

  “Milady, wait,” Pettibone called after her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “There’s no time. Send for the doctor, Pettibone. You’re needed here to handle things. I’ll return with Jack as soon as I can.”

  “Milady, I don’t think…”

  Whatever Pettibone thought was left unsaid as Moira opened the door to the coach and was literally pulled inside. “Spence, whatever are you doing?” she cried as arms like bands of steel closed around her. “Let me go.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Moira, but you’re not going to escape me again.”

  That voice! Turning her head sharply, Moira stared into the beady eyes of Roger Mayhew.

  “Where is Lord Spencer? What are you doing in England? Let me go! I have to go to my husband.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Your husband is dead.”

  A ragged cry left her throat, and Moira fainted for the first time in her life.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Jack left the office in a jovial mood. He had finished his business sooner than expected and looked forward with relish to spending the remainder of the day with Moira. Perhaps a ride in the park, he thought, or a matinee at Drury Lane Theater. For his part, he’d prefer spending the afternoon in bed with his delectable little wife, whose passion brought him untold joy.

  His arousing thoughts were carrying him on such a delightful journey that he paid little heed to Colin, who waited patiently in the driver’s box of the carriage parked at the curb. Jack paid little more than passing notice to Colin’s bowed head and hunched shoulders as he ordered the lad to proceed directly to Graystoke Manor before climbing inside and settling against the leather squabs.

  Jack’s mind wandered along pleasant pathways as the carriage wended through London’s crowded thoroughfares. Lost in thought, Jack didn’t become alarmed until he happened to glance out the window and noted that they were traveling the outskirts of London. Spitting out a curse, he pounded on the roof for Colin to stop and explain himself. A sudden spurt of speed tossed Jack onto the floor.

  By the time Jack regained his balance, the carriage careened onto a deserted dirt lane that wound through hedgerows. Minutes later, it came to a screeching halt. He groped for the door, but it was flung open before he could reach it.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Colin?” Jack asked in his sternest voice. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Get out, Yer Lordship,” a gruff voice answered.

  Jack’s head shot up. He saw at a glance that the man who spoke wasn’t Colin. Nor was the man behind him Colin. Or the driver, who was stepping down from the driver’s box to help his partners in crime. Jack had no choice but to climb out of the carriage. But before he did he reached behind the squabs, retrieved a primed pistol kept there for just such an emergency and thrust it into the waistband beneath his coat. At least he’d be able to get off one good shot before he was overpowered. If he was fortunate, it might even scare off the others.

  “Who ar
e you and what do you want?” Jack asked curtly. “I’m carrying few valuables on my person. I’ll make it worth your while to let me go. Take me home and I’ll reward you handsomely.”

  “Ye can be sure we’ll take whatever yer carryin’ on ye, but ye ain’t goin’ ’ome. We ain’t fools. More than likely ya’ll set yer men on us. Some bloke wants ya dead and paid us to do ya in.”

  Jack studied his adversaries, realizing he had little but his wits to get him out of this one. “I’ll pay you more.”

  “Do ye have the blunt on ye?” one of the men asked hopefully.

  “I told you, I’m carrying little of value. What have you done with my driver?”

  “We weren’t paid to kill him,” the spokesman muttered. “We just roughed him up a bit and left him in an alley.” He made a chopping motion with his hand. “Enough talkin’.”

  The men closed in and Jack moved out into the open, not wanting to be cornered with his back to the carriage.

  The footpads were separating, each coming at Jack from a different angle, two brandishing knives and one a stout branch he’d picked up from the ground. Jack waited, knees bent, his body tense. The moment they rushed him, he pulled out the pistol, aimed and fired. One man fell. Momentarily stunned, the others halted to stare at their fallen comrade.

  “Ye kilt old Henry!” the leader cried, his face mottled with rage. “Ye gone and done it now! Get him Dickey!”

  Wishing he’d brought his short sword, Jack decided that flight was the better part of valor. He turned to flee and found his path blocked by Dickey, obviously a seasoned street fighter by the look of his bulging muscles. Glancing over his shoulder, Jack noted that the other man was quickly closing in on him from another direction. Finding no other option, he mentally prepared himself to fight.

  Dickey threw himself at Jack, bringing him to the ground. “I got him, Robin,” Dickey crowed as he pinned Jack down with pure brute force. Jack focused all his strength on keeping Dickey’s knife from slashing him to ribbons. As soon as Robin joined the fray, Jack realized he was fighting a losing battle.