Slightly Tempted

by Mary Balogh

  She forgot about her hauteur and gazed at him in open amazement.

  “You called on Wulfric yesterday?” Just as he had said in Brussels that he would? To offer for her?

  “I did,” he told her. “But, alas, he had that solemn butler of his toss me out on my ear—or he would have done if I had not scurried off in fright before the man had the chance to roll up his sleeves. Bewcastle would not even permit me to address myself to you, chérie.”

  “Would he not?” Her nostrils flared. She completely forgot that she did not want him to address himself to her. “And did he explain why? It is because he blames you for all this stupid gossip about us, I suppose?”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled at her. “And perhaps it is that my reputation was somewhat unsavory even before I embroiled you in scandal.”

  “What nonsense this all is,” she said, looking about her and realizing again that they were in a very public place—and that they had ridden almost the whole length of Rotten Row. “All of it.”

  “Your loss of reputation is of concern to me, chérie,” he said. “I would restore it if I could.”

  “It is nonsense,” she said again. “None of these people know how very much you were my friend in Brussels.”

  “And more than that too, ma petite,” he said, lowering his voice.

  “It would be best,” she said, “if we forgot about that, Lord Rosthorn.”

  “Ah,” he said. “You ask the impossible, then, do you?”

  It was a relief to see that they had reached the end of the Row. Their few minutes of relative privacy were over. Rannulf was looking pointedly at the earl and Aidan had moved closer to Morgan’s other side. Lord Rosthorn’s companions were waiting a short distance away.

  He addressed himself to Freyja.

  “Lady Hallmere,” he said, “perhaps you would agree with my mother that often the best defense against scandal and gossip is offense. She would be delighted to entertain you to tea tomorrow afternoon with Lady Morgan and Lady Chastity—and perhaps with Lady Aidan and Lady Rannulf as well? I believe you have an acquaintance with my mother, ma’am?”

  Freyja looked appraisingly at him. “I have,” she said. “And much as I scorn gossip, I would have to agree with her on this occasion. Morgan is only eighteen years old and has only recently been presented, as I am sure you are well aware, Lord Rosthorn. We will come to Pickford House to tea tomorrow.”

  “And I will come too,” Eve said. “Please thank the Countess of Rosthorn for her kind invitation, my lord.”

  “Rannulf and I are returning to Leicestershire tomorrow,” Judith said. “Please convey my regrets to your mama, Lord Rosthorn.”

  Morgan held her peace.

  “I will bid you all a good morning and be on my way, then,” Lord Rosthorn said, nodding genially to the whole group. “Lady Morgan?” He touched his whip to the brim of his hat and rejoined his friends without a backward glance.

  Why had Wulfric rejected his suit out of hand? Morgan wondered. He was, after all, the Earl of Rosthorn. He was not a nobody. And there was this silly scandal surrounding the two of them.

  “Are we to prance about here on the spot gazing after the Earl of Rosthorn for the rest of the morning?” Freyja asked.

  “He called on Wulfric yesterday,” Morgan said, still gazing after him. “He offered for me, but Wulf refused him.”

  The Bedwyns all had something to say about that, of course.

  “He has just gone up in my estimation, then,” Rannulf said.

  “Rosthorn or Wulfric?” Joshua asked.

  “And Wulf did not even tell you, Morg? How very like him,” Freyja said scornfully.

  Eve smiled. “He is very charming.”

  “I adore his French accent,” Chastity added.

  “He is,” Judith said, darting a mischievous smile at Rannulf, “really rather gorgeous, is he not?”

  “He is too old for Morgan,” Rannulf said firmly. “You do not fancy him, do you, Morg?”

  “You do not understand,” she said. “No one understands. He was—he is my friend.” Yet she could not stop remembering the fierce, impassioned way she had reached for comfort in his rooms that one night and the equally fierce way in which he had offered it. It had not been romance or tenderness or love—or even friendship. But it had been something, and she could not simply shrug it off. It was only when her courses had begun a week ago that she had suddenly realized that she might have conceived a child during that encounter. Then her life would have been forever changed.

  She felt absurdly close to tears.

  “Come and ride back down the Row with me, Morgan,” Aidan suggested, “and tell me more about your time in Brussels. Tell me why Rosthorn is your friend.”

  “Will you listen?” she asked him sharply. Nobody ever listened, especially when one was only eighteen.

  But she had done Aidan an injustice. He had always been stern, even dour, in manner. He rarely smiled even now that he had found Eve and was happily married to her. Morgan had not seen a great deal of him while she was growing up because he had always been off somewhere with his regiment fighting the French. But she had always adored him perhaps most of all her brothers. Whenever he had been at home, he had always made a point of spending time with her, doing with her things that she enjoyed doing, like painting outdoors without the intrusive presence of her governess hovering over her every brushstroke. And he had always listened to her as if she were a real person rather than just a nuisance of a younger sister.

  “I will listen,” he said gravely now. “Come. Let’s ride.”

  GERVASE RETURNED HOME FOR BREAKFAST instead of going to White’s Club as he had originally planned. His mother and Henrietta were already at the table. He kissed his mother’s cheek and squeezed his cousin’s shoulder before taking his place and allowing the butler to fill a plate for him.

  “You will be entertaining a few ladies to tea tomorrow, Maman,” he said after a few pleasantries had been exchanged.

  “Will I, mon fils?” she asked him. “And am I to know in advance who they are?”

  “The Marchioness of Hallmere,” he told her, “with her sister, Lady Morgan Bedwyn, her sister-in-law, Lady Aidan Bedwyn, and Hallmere’s cousin, Lady Chastity Moore.”

  “Ah,” she said, “a formidable group of ladies, Gervase. And one of them the lady with whom your name is being coupled in a less than flattering way, I believe?”

  “You have heard the gossip, then, have you?” he asked her, cutting into his sausage. “It is unfortunate. I had the honor of offering the lady some protection when she remained in Brussels after the return home of her chaperon. She stayed to nurse the wounded and to seek word of her brother after he rode to the front during the Battle of Waterloo to deliver an urgent letter to the Duke of Wellington but did not return. I had the honor of escorting her and her maid back to England after she received word that Lord Alleyne Bedwyn was certainly dead.”

  “And yet,” she said, “the gossip is vicious. No one would tell me that, of course, but Henrietta was entertained to a full recounting of the sordid details at Mrs. Ertman’s concert last evening, were you not, ma chère?”

  “I would not believe that you acted dishonorably, Gervase,” his cousin said. “I defended you as well as I could without knowing the facts.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled at her. “It is my idea to squash the gossip by showing that you are on friendly terms with Lady Morgan Bedwyn and her family, Maman. Perhaps you could invite a few other ladies to tea too.”

  “Like all the patronesses of Almack’s?” she suggested dryly. “Gervase, why have you not made an offer for the girl? It would seem the honorable thing to do since you have damaged her name, however inadvertently.”

  “I have offered,” he told her. “Bewcastle rejected my suit and would not even permit me to address Lady Morgan.”

  “Would he not?” She gazed long and hard at him, the toast on her plate forgotten. “And did it give you pleasure, Gervase, so to confront him?
Did it give him pleasure to refuse you? Has nothing changed, nothing been solved?”

  He had been trying to untangle his own motives since yesterday. He had not expected to meet Lady Morgan again so soon, but he had meant to see her. And having done so, he had thought of a way of perhaps dampening the force of the scandal. It was wise for his mother to be seen to receive her and her sister. But at the same time it would incense Bewcastle, who would be faced with the dilemma of either allowing the visit or openly snubbing a lady of his mother’s standing in society.

  He had felt a rush of tenderness for Lady Morgan in the park. He had also felt a distinct physical awareness of her that went beyond mere attraction. He had possessed that body. He had been inside her. He knew her. All the feelings had been unwelcome. He would like to have used her mindlessly to get back at Bewcastle. But she was a person, and apart from any other feelings he might have for her, he liked her. He even admired her.

  “I offered,” he said, “because I had compromised the lady. Bewcastle refused for reasons he did not share with me.”

  His mother continued to look steadily at him.

  “And do you care for this lady, Gervase?” she asked him. “Do your feelings for her go beyond simple honor? Have you conceived an affection for her?”

  “An affection, yes,” he admitted. “But you must not make a grand romance out of it, Maman. She is very young and I am very jaded. We shared a friendship in Brussels, forced upon us by circumstances. It is not something that can be transplanted to England now that she is back with her family and I am with mine. My only wish is to restore her reputation.”

  But his mother had clasped her hands to her bosom and was beaming at him.

  “You do not know what you say, Gervase,” she said. “How foolish men are! You care for Lady Morgan Bedwyn, whom I have never seen in my life. But I will. Tomorrow I will entertain her here and give my opinion on whether she is worthy of my son. I would have chosen anyone but a Bedwyn for you if given the choice, but love cannot always be chosen rationally. My prayers are going to be answered, and I am going to see the last of my children and the eldest happily married.”

  Gervase looked with mute appeal at his cousin. She was smiling at him.

  “I will not embarrass you with gushing enthusiasm, Gervase,” she said, “but I would have you know that nothing would make me happier than to see you happy at last.”

  CHASTITY AND LORD MEECHAM RODE OFF TO HAVE breakfast with his sister. Freyja and Joshua rode back to Bedwyn House with the others. Wulfric joined them at the breakfast table before they started eating.

  “We met the Earl of Rosthorn in the park,” Freyja announced—it had never been her way to beat around any bushes, “and he issued an invitation from the Countess of Rosthorn for us ladies to take tea with her at Pickford House tomorrow afternoon. I will take Eve and Morgan up in our carriage, Wulf, so that you will not need to order one around.”

  “That is remarkably kind of you, Freyja,” he said, spreading his napkin across his lap. “Joshua and Aidan have doubtless given permission for you and Eve to accept this kind invitation. I am not aware that I have given mine for Morgan to accompany you.”

  “As if I would need Joshua’s permission to do whatever I please!” Freyja retorted, glaring at Joshua as if it were he who had just expressed such a gothic notion. “And why ever would you think of withholding yours from Morgan, Wulfric?”

  “I assume,” he said, indicating to his butler by the slight lifting of one eyebrow that his coffee cup was to be filled, “that your question is rhetorical, Freyja? The Earl of Rosthorn is not a suitable acquaintance for anyone in this family. His reputation is not that of a gentleman of good ton, and the way in which he has carelessly embroiled Morgan in unnecessary scandal has proved the point. I would rather you sent a refusal to the countess.”

  “It seems to me, Wulf,” Rannulf said as Morgan was drawing breath to speak, “that it would be in Morgan’s best interests to be seen to be on amiable terms with Lady Rosthorn. If the countess is known to have received her, then the gossip will surely die for lack of further fuel. Something far more interesting is bound to take its place soon.”

  “I would have to agree,” Joshua said. “And it ought to be remembered that Freyja is still Morgan’s sponsor during this first Season of hers. If Freyja sees fit to accept this invitation and accompany Morgan to Pickford House, then it must be unexceptionable.”

  Wulfric was eating his way through a large plate of food just as if they were talking about nothing of any greater significance than the weather.

  “I resent the fact,” Morgan said, setting down her knife and fork with a clatter—she had eaten nothing anyway, “that everyone is talking about me as if I were not here to talk for myself. If you have any definite or personal objection to the Earl of Rosthorn, Wulf, then speak out. If you do not, you can only object to the fact that instead of abandoning me as the Caddicks did when they left Brussels, he escorted me to Mrs. Clark’s and arranged for my belongings to be brought over. And that then he gave of his own time and energies to try to discover what had happened to Alleyne. And that he escorted me whenever I needed to get air and exercise after nursing the wounded—so that I would not have to go about alone. And that after I had heard from Sir Charles Stuart about the discovery of the letter that Alleyne had been carrying, Lord Rosthorn hired a maid for me and brought me home in person, though I do not believe he had planned to return to England so soon. This is why you call him no gentleman, Wulf? This is why you turned him away yesterday and would not even allow him to pay his addresses to me?”

  “Bravo, Morg,” Rannulf said.

  Judith had covered her hand on the table with her own. She patted it comfortingly.

  “Ah,” Wulfric said, looking up briefly from his food, “he worked that into the conversation this morning, then, did he?”

  “He did,” Morgan told him. “I would have said no, Wulf. Did you realize that? I would not force anyone to marry me simply because he believed himself honor-bound to offer. And I would not marry any man I did not love with my whole heart. But I resent the fact that you did not even give me the chance to choose my own future. I deeply resent it.”

  He looked at her for a few silent moments, both eyebrows raised.

  “Perhaps you have forgotten, Morgan,” he said then, raising his coffee cup to his lips with a despicably steady hand, “that you are eighteen years old, that until you reach your majority I am the one to make major decisions concerning your future.”

  “How could I possibly forget!” she retorted, slapping her napkin onto the table and giving up all pretense of preparing to eat. “Am I forbidden to go to tea tomorrow, then? Am I to be locked into my room with bread and water?”

  He set down his knife and fork and looked coldly at her.

  “I have always considered tantrums tedious,” he told her. “But as Joshua has just pointed out, you are under the sponsorship of Freyja during your first Season. If Freyja considers this a suitable connection, then I will say no more.”

  “I do think that is a wise decision, Wulfric,” Eve said, drawing his surprised eyes her way. “Of course you are concerned that Morgan not become the dupe of an unprincipled man, but most important at present is somehow to dispel this foolish scandal that has developed.”

  “Quite so,” he said.

  “Besides,” she said, “Morgan is as sensible as the best of us and is to be trusted to behave in a manner befitting her family and station.”

  “Which is not saying a great deal, Eve, if you really think about it, is it?” Rannulf said with a grin.

  “We are planning to take the children out sightseeing today,” Aidan said. “Becky wants to see the pagoda in Kew Gardens. Davy wants to see the lions at the Tower. Any suggestions on how we might please both?”

  The conversation moved into other channels and Morgan, darting a grateful glance at Aidan, who winked back at her, finally picked up her knife and fork and tackled her breakfast.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER XIV

  HE MUST TAKE HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE IN THE House of Lords next year, Gervase decided. All of his peers were there and were inclined to treat him with distant civility at best—as someone, perhaps, who did not take his responsibilities seriously. Those gentlemen with whom he did consort tended to be those leftover companions from his youth who were still idle but were now bored and jaded too—and they thought him the devil of a fine fellow for his escapades on the Continent and the manner of his return to England. He had described himself as jaded to his mother the morning he met Lady Morgan in Hyde Park. He was also bored and had been idle for nine long years. Nevertheless, he felt years older in experience than those companions, who no longer felt quite like friends.

  It was time, he supposed, that he settled down and earned the respect of his peers. He deeply resented the fact that it had to be earned, that he had been robbed of both his good name and nine years of his life, but he would only rob himself of more time if he allowed himself to wallow in bitterness.

  Bewcastle was his Achilles’ heel, though. He could not seem to talk himself out of his deep desire to harm the man.

  His mother had invited a few ladies of her acquaintance to take tea at Pickford House on the afternoon his own invited guests were expected there. At first he had not intended putting in an appearance himself. It was his mother who pointed out the desirability of his doing so.

  “It is important that you be seen together,” she said, “on the best of polite terms with each other and under the benevolent eye of your maman.”

  And so he strolled into the drawing room while the tea was in progress. The room seemed to be full of fashionably dressed ladies—it really was quite daunting to walk in upon them as the only male. His mother sat on a small sofa close to the fireplace, Lady Morgan beside her, looking astonishingly youthful and lovely in black. Gervase bowed to both of them, kissed his mother’s hand, asked Lady Morgan how she did, and turned away to make himself agreeable to the other guests.

  Although there was no noticeable pause in any of the conversations, Gervase guessed that every eye had watched his approach to Lady Morgan Bedwyn and every ear had strained to catch every word they exchanged. An account of this afternoon’s visit would doubtless enliven conversations at dinner tables and in theaters and ballrooms and drawing rooms this evening.