Tempted at Every Turn

by Robyn DeHart

  She thought she heard Lady Dandridge twitter, but Willow was unable to pull her eyes away from James.

  She rarely danced with men at these functions. Mainly because men rarely asked, but also because those who did were generally twice her age and reeked of alcohol or liniment. Her first instinct was to tell him no, she shouldn’t dance with him. She shouldn’t want to dance with him. But she did.

  Then she realized that the voices around her had ceased and all eyes were on them. She looked around. The smile on his mother’s face was so full of surprise mingled with hope that Willow couldn’t bear to let the woman down. So she did the polite thing and nodded and allowed him to lead her out to the floor.

  “A waltz,” she said numbly.

  “You do know how, do you not, Miss Mabson?” he asked.

  “Of course. I had a proper presentation at court and a coming-out and everything else required of young ladies.” And she did know how, but aside from that first night at Almack’s, she had never waltzed again. Here she was, though, in the arms of the most dashing man in the room.

  She tried desperately not to notice the feel of his warm hand at the small of her back. Or the feel of his muscles flexing lightly beneath her hand. Or the rich aroma of sandalwood that was so decidedly masculine, she had to fight not to close her eyes and lean into the scent.

  Instead, she focused intently on counting her steps so she wouldn’t miss one. One, two, three…one, two, three. It wasn’t until he chuckled that she realized she must have been mouthing her counts. And had the sound of his laugh not completely captivated her, she would have boxed his ears. But the rich baritone of his voice and the genuine quality of the laugh made it impossible for her to do anything but smile.

  And then it was he who missed a step, but he recovered so quickly, she almost didn’t notice.

  “You have a lovely smile.” It didn’t sound like a heartfelt compliment, but rather the kind a boy of seven pays when his mother forces him to say something nice to someone.

  “Thank you.” She probably should have said something equally as kind, it seemed only fair to repay a compliment with a compliment, but when it came to forming one, she was at a loss. His smile was nice as well. More than nice, if she were perfectly honest. The dimples imbedded in his stubbled cheeks gave him a mixed look of dangerous man and boyish charm.

  He was precisely the sort of man who would make Charlotte weak in the knees. Why, then, did Willow’s own joints feel so wobbly? She had always been the one unaffected by the charms of men. Had always managed to keep herself collected and calm, and those very skills had enabled her to accept her spinsterhood with ease.

  But here she was, drawn to the man who behaved as he desired rather than as he ought. It seemed a cruel trick of irony that the one man she did not want to want was the only man who seemed to stir her interest. Perhaps that’s all it was: wanting what one couldn’t have. That trick had ensnared poor Eve in the Garden of Eden. It was in a person’s nature to behave in such ways, just as it was within her capability to ignore such longings.

  His hand tensed, pressing into the small of her back. And try as she might, she could not ignore the sensations radiating up her spine. She was right at eye level with his Adam’s apple, more evidence of his masculine nature. The muscles and tendons in his neck tightened ever so slightly and the browned skin beckoned for her to run her fingers over it. She looked at her hand resting against his shoulder and knew if she allowed herself to explore, she’d find more firm muscle just below her fingertips. She swallowed.

  It was foolish for her to try to ignore his body so close to hers, or his hands on her body or his breath at her ear. Nor could she ignore the rapid cadence of her heart. She could not have this, she reminded herself. Romance and love, marriage and family—those things were out of her reach. Not that he was offering.

  No, James was simply being polite for the sake of his parents. He, no doubt, took pity on the poor spinster for standing off to the side like a discarded wallflower.

  So despite the feelings this dance conjured, nothing had changed. She might still harbor desires for that sort of life, but to claim it, she’d have to neglect her mother, and that was a sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make. She could control this reaction as well as any other she’d had for the last nine and twenty years. Soon she would forget it had even crossed her mind. At least she hoped so.

  “Your mother,” James said, interrupting her thoughts. “Her name is Agatha?”

  “Yes. Why?” Her words came out more curtly than she’d intended. It was only that her family had spent so much time trying to protect her mother’s secret, and Willow knew she became defensive whenever someone mentioned her.

  He shook his head. “I simply hadn’t realized that our mothers knew each other.”

  She tried a light laugh, but knew she had not hidden her unease. James was no fool; he would know she was keeping a secret.

  The song ended and it took her a moment to realize the dance was over. When she did, she immediately dropped her hands to her sides. She ought to thank him for the dance; it was the polite thing to do. But if he was motivated out of pity for her, she didn’t want to appease him with gratitude, so she said nothing.

  He led her back over to their waiting parties. His parents still stood there, although her wretched brother was nowhere to be found. Now she would have to search him out so he could drive her home. It was time to end this evening’s humiliation. She smiled at James’ parents and inclined her head.

  “Such a pleasure to meet you both. I do not wish to be rude, but I’m afraid I’ve come down with a headache and will be leaving.”

  “James, escort Miss Mabson,” his mother said tightly with her hand on her son’s arm.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” Willow said. “That really won’t be necessary. My brother is here, I need only find him.” No doubt he’d made his way to a card game somewhere in this infernally large home. “I know precisely where to look for him.” Then she turned and walked away.

  James’ mother popped him on the arm with her fan. “You could have offered her an escort home,” she said tartly once Willow was out of earshot.

  “You heard her, Mother. She already has an escort.” Of all the asinine things. He fought the urge to let go a string of curses. Of all the ridiculous things he could have done, he had gone and asked Willow to dance in front of his mother. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, that was the problem.

  He’d seen Willow gazing wistfully at the dance floor and something inside him had tightened. It had not been out of pity, although he was certain Willow thought as much, with her rapid departure. No, pity hadn’t led him to ask; he’d wanted to dance with her. It had been some indiscernible urge—an urge to have her in his arms and give her what she seemed to desire. Perhaps he had misread her.

  He was so used to acting on impulse that he hadn’t paused long enough to consider the repercussions. And those repercussions were about to come flailing out of his mother’s mouth.

  “She is quite a lovely girl, James, I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t have wanted to spend more time with her. I realize she’s older, but she is still viable.”

  He nearly winced. “You make her sound like a cut of meat—decided when it has soured enough to toss out. Can we get back to why I came here tonight?”

  “And what reason is that? To break your poor mother’s heart? Honestly, James, I can’t take much more of this. A mother can only suffer so much pain before she simply withers away.” She caught a sob behind her handkerchief, then she pulled her husband away.

  So he’d chased two women away for the night, both with the same dance.

  Chapter 6

  James swirled the glass of amber liquid around while he flipped through Drummond’s journal. The first mention of Agatha was not far into the leather-bound book. James scanned the photographer’s words and felt a stone sink in his stomach. Luscious brown hair, crystalline-green eyes, rounded curves, and a dimple in her chin. Aside
from the color of the eyes, Drummond could have been talking about Willow. When he’d first heard her mother’s name mentioned at the ball, he’d wondered, but Agatha wasn’t that uncommon of a name.

  He’d wanted to ask Willow if her mother had known the photographer. The question had been right on his tongue, but every mention of her mother’s name seemed to greatly increase her unease. Willow was hiding something, and this just might be it. Perhaps she knew of her mother’s connection to Drummond and was trying to protect her.

  Tossing the journal on his bed, he poured himself another drink. Regardless of Willow’s motives, he needed an opportunity to interrogate her parents. But he needed to do so without her interference. He knew that were Willow to be present during his questioning, nothing would get accomplished.

  He might not know Willow very well, but he’d seen enough to acknowledge that she would be fiercely loyal to her family. So, as soon as he could, he’d pay a visit to the viscount and his wife. In the meantime, Willow might be able to assist him in figuring out who the other ladies in the journal might be.

  His mother hadn’t been the least bit helpful tonight. Once he’d foolishly asked Willow to dance, it was all his mother could think about. He knew she’d immediately begun dreaming about which church and what flowers, and which would be prettier, a spring or fall wedding? He certainly hadn’t planned on dancing with her. Or with any woman, for that matter. He’d told his mother as much to keep her pestering at bay. And yet he’d asked Willow and she’d said yes and had spent several moments encased in his arms.

  He wanted to pretend those moments hadn’t affected him, that the softness of her skin and the clean citrus smell of her hair hadn’t caused desire to surge through him. He took a sip of brandy and reveled in the fire that slid down his throat.

  Closing his eyes, he could still see how she’d looked as he’d guided her over the dance floor. While her dress wasn’t completely unfashionable, it wasn’t nearly as revealing as most of the other women’s. The creamy pink had looked nice with her skin. The delicate curls of her soft brown hair had laid nicely on her smooth and rounded shoulders. Shoulders he could have spent hours laving kisses and nibbles on.

  Bloody hell.

  He stepped out onto his balcony and looked to the ground, three stories below. In the dim light it was difficult to see the manicured lawn and pebbled walkway, but he knew from memory that they lay beneath. He tossed the remaining brandy out of his glass and watched the liquid travel into the darkness.

  He’d not only wanted to dance with her, but after the feel of her in his arms, the subtle feminine scent surrounding her, and that smile she’d bestowed upon him, he’d wanted nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her senseless.

  She amused him. Not in a cruel, jesting sort of way, but in a purely entertaining manner. She was intelligent and her sharp tongue was a testament to that. Despite all of this his attraction to her made no sense. Not because she wasn’t deserving of his desire, but because she represented everything he’d stood against for the past twelve years.

  Her propriety and aristocratic rules. Her prim and proper ways, all for the sake of Society. He’d learned to ignore it in his own family because there was nothing you could do about the family you had. But to engage in courtship behavior with a woman like Willow—that simply wouldn’t do.

  He’d not only done that, he’d actually desired kissing her. Which was annoying. He wasn’t supposed to want her. Wasn’t supposed to desire her kisses, not really. He’d only mentioned that kiss as part of the wager in an attempt to scare her off; instead, it had appealed to her competitive nature. Perhaps he should steal a kiss. While the threat of one might not frighten her, surely the impropriety of an impulsive kiss would insist she walk away from the investigation.

  And the further he pushed Willow away from him, the better.

  Willow had decided that the dance would not interfere with the investigation. There need be no mention of it. After all, it was only a dance. What they needed to focus on was a plan of action to take with this case. What was next in the investigation?

  They’d made no plans to have a meeting, so Willow had taken it upon herself to seek him out. She had made some inquiries on her own, but hadn’t turned up any helpful information. It was important that she be privy to the same information he had. Which meant constant communication.

  Her smart heels clicked on the sidewalk as she stepped from the carriage out onto the sidewalk in front of the New Scotland Yard. James’ office was on the third floor, while her cousin, who had often passed information to her—quite eagerly, she might add—sat on the first, back in a corner. Clerks weren’t highly regarded among the detectives.

  There was no need to visit with her cousin today. No need for James to know she had a source within the walls of his sanctuary. That was her little secret. And she hadn’t pestered Frederick for details in months. Granted, that could have been because her idle threats of telling his mother about his gaming hell habits had worn thin. Aunt Marietta was so senile these days she hardly knew who her son was much less what he was doing. She knew none of it mattered anyhow. Chances were unlikely anyone would believe him if he told of Willow’s curiosity.

  She tried her best to walk softly through the halls, but her boots were making such a racket. If she was to be a real detective, she might need to invest in quieter shoes. Rounding the corner, she approached the hall that led to James and the other detectives.

  “I mean it, Sterling,” a man’s voice boomed from an enclosed office. “One more complaint like this and you’re gone. For good. I don’t care who you are. Your family doesn’t have any power here.”

  Then the office door opened and she came face-to-face with a hefty man about her height with dark, round eyes and sweat beading on his forehead. A small, wiry man with a blackened eye followed him out. The smaller man was looking rather smug.

  James appeared next and surprise widened his eyes, but he recovered quickly and scanned the length of her. He had that way about him; the way to make her feel completely aware of herself in a way that she’d never considered. He uttered a low expletive and Willow felt her ears heat with embarrassment.

  “Did we have a meeting this morning?” he asked briskly. She was unable to determine whether or not he was surly with her for popping in unannounced or because she’d caught him getting disciplined. It was really rather rude of her and not ladylike in the least, but with a business transaction, those rules did not apply—correct? It was not as if she were calling upon him for tea.

  “No, but I felt it important that we discuss the next step in this investigation. Aside from the butler, are we planning on interrogating anyone?” she asked, attempting to shift his attention off the unpleasantness she’d witnessed.

  “Just a moment,” he said, then he turned and stepped into his office area. He was gone for a couple of moments, but she could hear him rustling some papers. A few snickers filled the air and James cleared his throat, presumably to get the men to cease their badgering.

  Finally he emerged with his black leather satchel. “Follow me,” he said.

  He led her back down to the first floor, then out the front door, all the while not saying a word. Once on the sidewalk, he hailed a hackney, then opened the door for her.

  His eyebrows rose when she didn’t immediately move toward the open door.

  “Precisely where are we going?” she asked.

  “To my townhome to discuss the case and to set our plan in motion. Get in, Willow.”

  It had been on her tongue to tell him she would under no circumstances go alone with him to his townhome. But the sound of her name on his lips seemed to have a soothing effect on her nerves. It rolled so simply off his tongue, she would have sworn no one had ever uttered the syllables but him.

  She sat dumbfounded in the carriage and eyed him cautiously as he sat across from her. What was she doing? While the state of her reputation would have no bearing on her spinster status, it still seemed rema
rkably reckless of her to jaunt about town with a bachelor. A very eligible and handsome bachelor. Desirable as well.

  Oh, for pity’s sake! She needed to get ahold of herself.

  “What?”

  She jumped at his question. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

  “You rolled your eyes and scoffed at something, I wanted to be inside of the joke with you.”

  I was having silly schoolgirl imaginings about you. Somehow that admission wouldn’t just roll off her tongue and she was rather thankful for that.

  She nearly scoffed again, but caught herself. “I only just realized that I forgot my spectacles this morning,” she said. It was a legitimate excuse and quite brilliant for one thought up off the cuff. “What was that about back there?” she asked.

  “What?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “Those men. I heard them yelling at you.”

  “The one yelling, that was my superintendent. The man in charge of me,” he said tightly. “The other man is a suspect that I tried to arrest but was unable to do so. He didn’t like my interrogation methods, so he came and filed a complaint against me.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Baron Millhouse.” His tone was flat.

  Willow frowned. “I’ve heard his name.”

  James nodded. “You probably have. He has quite the reputation.”

  Willow tried to pull from her mind what she’d heard. She’d seen his name. Printed somewhere. She closed her eyes. “In the Times,” she said. “He’s been written about in the Times.”

  James leveled his eyes on her. “He buys orphan girls supposedly to save them from the streets and hire them as servants, but instead uses them for his own pleasure. Then, when he tires of them, he beats them and turns them out.”

  “Loathsome,” Willow whispered.

  “We can’t find any evidence against him. And none of the girls are willing to point any blame in his direction. Not that their doing so would help. He’s well protected.”