by Cheryl Holt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Teaser chapter
“CHERYL HOLT DELIVERS WHAT READERS DESIRE:”*
PRAISE FOR HER NOVELS
“Hot, sexy, and wild!”
—Book Cove Reviews
“A scorching novel that titillates as she explores a woman’s deepest fantasies and brings them, red-hot, to the page. But there’s more than just great sex in Holt’s romances.”
—*Romantic Times
“Cheryl Holt is magnificent”
Reader to Reader Reviews
“[A] master writer.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“From cover to cover I was spellbound... Truly outstandlng: ”
—Romance Junkies
“The action is intense and the love scenes are explicit, which makes [this] a doubly fantastic page-turner.”
—Night Owl Romance
“A classic love story with hot, fiery passion... dripping from every page. There’s nothing better than curling up with a great book and this one totally qualifies.”
—Fresh Friction
“Packed with emotion, sensuality, and surprising twists and turns. Holt has come up with the perfect combination of intrigue, sensual love scenes, and tender emotion, which I haven’t read in a historical romance in a very long time. Just too delicious to pass up. Happy reading!”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“This book pulls you in and you won’t be able to put it down.”
—The Romance Studio
Berkley Sensation Titles by Cheryl Holt
PROMISE OF PLEASURE
TASTE OF TEMPTATION
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
TASTE OF TEMPTATION
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / June 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Cheryl Holt.
Excerpt from Dreams of Desire by Cheryl Holt copyright © by Cheryl Holt.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-18795-1
BERKLEY® SENSATION
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Prologue
“THIS is my most famous remedy of all.”
“What is it called?”
“The Spinster’s Cure.”
Phillip Dudley, who—when selling his wares—used the false name and character of Frenchman Philippe Dubois, smiled at his pretty, auburn-haired customer. She looked bedraggled and exhausted, as if she desperately needed whatever he could convince her to buy.
“The Spinster’s Cure?” she asked. “What does it do?”
“It helps an unwed female find a husband. You’ve never heard of it?”
“No, sorry.”
He filled a vial with the red liquid and, as if the concoction was exotic and rare, gently placed it in her hand.
“You should try a sample. It would be extremely beneficial to your condition.”
She scowled. “My condition! What do you imagine is wrong with me?”
“You’re lonely, Miss Hamilton.”
“I am not,” she scoffed.
He peered into her striking green eyes, certain she was lying.
He was a renowned charlatan who had a knack for guessing a woman’s hidden thoughts and feelings.
“You shouldn’t pretend with me, cherie,” he said. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-fom.”
“How can you insist you’re not lonely? Despite your advanced age—”
“Advanced! You talk as if I have one foot in the grave.”
“Face it, mademoiselle. You are no longer in the first blush of youth, yet you wear no wedding ring. No husband has been chosen for you. How can this be?”
“I’ve had a bit of trouble lately—not that my personal affairs are any of your business—but my father is recently deceased, so I’m busy caring for my two younger sisters. There’s been no time to worry about marriage or anything else.”
“If you could have one wish granted, I am positive you would ask for a handsome husband, a home of your own, and children to mother.”
She gaped at him, amazed that he could be so astute, when he had simply voiced what most women craved.
“How did you know?” she marveled.
“I am Philippe Dubois,” he answered, sounding pompous and wise. “It is my job to know.”
He wrapped her fingers around the vial.
“You must drink this potion,” he instructed, “while staring at your true love. You will be married to him in four weeks. Je guarantee!”
“You’re joking.”
“Not about this. Never about this.”
She gazed at the vial, running her thumb over the cool glass.
Her yearning was palpable. She wanted the potion to be real, wanted it to magically alter her circumstances, but she wasn’t prone to superstition or fantasy.
In the end, logic won out.
“I don’t think so.”
“But you must!” He grabbed her han
d and held it, palm up, tracing down the center. “This line right here?”
“Yes.”
“It tells me that your dreadful fate is set. Drastic intervention is necessary to change it”
“I don’t want my fate to be altered.”
“You’re not serious, mon amie.” He studied her shabby dress and tattered cloak. She wore the trappings of gentility, but her threadbare attire indicated she was experiencing tremendous financial difficulties. “You would go on as you have been? Why continue to struggle and toil, when you can drink a dose of my Spinster’s Cure and fix what is wrong?”
“I don’t have any money to pay you for it”
She tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it.
“For you, it is free. When you are happily wed—as I promise you soon will be—you will come and reimburse me.”
“You’re mad,” she protested.
“Not mad,” he responded. “I know of what I speak. Just you wait and see.”
Chapter 1
LONDON, AUGUST 1814 ...
“MICHAEL! What are you doing?”
Captain Tristan Odell glared down the hall at his younger half brother, Michael Seymour.
“Tristan,” Michael casually replied, “I didn’t realize you were home.”
“Obviously: ”
Michael—the recently installed Earl of Hastings—had his arms wrapped around a very fetching housemaid, his lean, lanky torso pressing her against the wall. Not that she appeared to mind.
She was buxom and plump, her abundant breasts scarcely constrained by corset and gown, and thus, the exact sort of female Michael relished.
A love bite was plainly visible on the girl’s neck, so mischief had been brewing. If Tristan hadn’t walked by, Michael would have lured her into an empty parlor, would have had her skirt thrown up and her drawers tugged down in a fast attempt to lose his virginity.
It was hell, trying to keep the eighteen-year-old boy in line. With his golden blond hair and big blue eyes, his broad shoulders and six-foot frame, he could have been an angel painted on a church ceiling. Women took one look at him and promptly forgot every lesson they’d ever been taught about decency and decorum.
“What’s your name, lass?” Tristan asked the maid.
“Lydia, Captain Odell.”
“Be about your duties, Lydia, and I don’t want you to sneak off with the earl ever again.”
She glanced at Michael, expecting him to counter the edict, but Michael merely grinned, a shameless, unrepentant rogue.
“Yes, Captain Odell,” she sullenly mumbled.
“I don’t care what he promises you,” Tristan warned. “I don’t care if he offers you money or plies you with gifts. You are to refuse. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If he pesters you, and you can’t dissuade him, come to me at once.”
“I will.”
“For if I stumble on another tryst, you’ll be fired immediately. I won’t give you a chance to explain. You’ll simply be turned out without a reference.”
The threat of termination got her attention. She curtsied and left, but she was mutinous, and Tristan knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be searching for other employment.
“You!” Tristan pointed an admonishing finger at Michael. “In the library!”
Tristan spun and marched off, as Michael complained, “You’re such a scold. You never let me have any fun.”
“This isn’t my fault”
“The way you carry on, one would think you were my mother.”
“Don’t bring your poor mother into it. If she hadn’t died when you were little, she wouldn’t last long, watching you now. Your antics would be the death of her.”
“My mother would have loved me,” Michael confidently claimed. “She would have thought I was marvelous. All women do.”
Tristan rolled his eyes and plopped down into his chair behind the massive oak desk. Though Michael was the earl, he slouched—like the recalcitrant adolescent he was—into the chair across from Tristan.
The prior earl, their philandering father, Charles Seymour, had passed away six months earlier, orphaning Michael and his twelve-year-old sister, Rose.
There were several relatives who could have stepped in as guardian for the two children, but for reasons Tristan couldn’t fathom, Charles had chosen him.
Tristan was Charles’s oldest, but illegitimate son, the product of an illicit romance between Charles and Tristan’s Scottish mother, Meg. Charles had owned a hunting lodge near Tristan’s village and had visited every autumn. As a wealthy, urbane aristocrat, Charles had possessed the same charisma as Michael, and pretty, foolish Meg hadn’t stood a chance.
She’d died when Tristan was a baby, so she’d been unavailable to insist on continuing contact with his father. As a result, Tristan had only seen Charles a few times, and he’d been given scant fiscal support.
Tristan had made his own way in the world, had embraced his love of sailing and the sea. He owned a small shipping company and sailed as captain of his own merchant vessel. He was never happier than when he was out on the water and flying over the waves, so it had come as an enormous surprise to learn that he’d been roped in by Charles, cast as mentor and protector to his half siblings whom he’d never met.
At age thirty, Tristan had never been married and had no children of his own, so he knew nothing about parenting. He was floundering like a blind man, groping about in the dark.
Yet he wasn’t eager to be compared to his negligent father, so he took his responsibilities seriously. When he’d received the letter advising him of his guardianship of Michael and Rose, he’d grudgingly traveled to London to assume his duties.
Michael and Rose weren’t overly distraught at Charles’s demise. Nor did they seem to miss him. Apparently Charles had been as absent in their lives as he’d been in Tristan’s. They viewed his passing as one might that of a distant family friend.
“Well”—Tristan struggled to look fatherly—“what have you to say for yourself?”
“She’s very fetching? She’s loose with her favors? You’re a stick in the mud?”
Tristan snorted with disgust. “You’re hopeless. I have no idea why I lecture you.”
“Neither do I. It’s a waste of breath.”
“It certainly is, but you must heed me: You don’t want to gain a reputation as a fellow who tumbles his servants. Those kinds of men are regarded as swine.”
“I don’t feel like swine. I feel randy as the dickens.”
“You have an obligation to your employees. You can’t frivolously ruin them—even if they beg you to.”
Tristan glowered, stupidly expecting to elicit some evidence of remorse, or at least a hint that Michael recognized his behavior to be rash and wrong. He was a peer of the realm, so he should set an example, but as Tristan had quickly learned, Michael acted however he pleased.
He’d been raised by nannies and governesses—pushovers all—who’d been dazzled by his delightful smile and charming manners. With his being eighteen and horridly spoiled, there wasn’t much Tristan could do but peck like a hen while keeping a tight rein on Michael’s fortune, a staggering array of money and property that he wouldn’t completely control until the age of twenty-five.
“I’ve enlightened you as to women”—Tristan’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment—“and the urges we men suffer because of them. You have to be cautious.”
“It was just a kiss,” Michael contended.
“Kissing can swiftly lead to more, and trust me, a lowborn female like Lydia is a mercenary. If you impregnated her, you’d end up supporting her for the rest of your life.”
Bored with the topic, Michael yawned. “Quit nagging. I like you, Tristan, but honestly, you can be positively tedious.”
Michael flashed an imperious glare, filled with youthful disdain. Tristan had sailed around the globe, had whored and debauched in cities from Bombay to Shanghai, so he was in no position
to chastise, but he felt compelled to guide Michael in his carnal conduct.
Michael was an earl. There were standards to be maintained, as their father had pointed out in a letter he’d written to Tristan on his deathbed.
Watch over Michael and Rose, Charles had penned. Be kind to Rose. Dote on her as I never did. Be stern with Michael. Teach him the lessons I never bothered to impart....
The words were powerfully binding. Tristan was desperate to do right by Michael and Rose, desperate to make his father proud—a situation to which he’d never aspired when the man had been alive.
“I’ve explained the mechanics of sexual activity,” Tristan reminded Michael, “and I hope you’ve paid attention.”
“Oh, yes”—Michael grinned wickedly—“and I can’t understand why you’re working so hard to prevent me from practicing what you described. It can’t be healthy to be so physically frustrated.”
“You have to wait till you’re married.”
Tristan nearly choked. Had that sentence come from his own mouth?
“Ha! I don’t know why you’re so determined to keep me in the dark.”
“It’s not the dark I’m worried about; it’s the baby that arrives nine months later.”
At all costs, Tristan would thwart Michael from siring any bastard children. Being a bastard himself, it was a sore subject for Tristan, but he couldn’t get Michael to grasp why it mattered.
“I wish you’d take me to a brothel,” Michael blurted out.
“A brothel?”
