Heart's Temptation Series Box Set: Books 1-3: A Steamy Historical Romance Collection (Heart's Temptation Box Set)

by Scarlett Scott

  A flurry of skirts and color caught his attention. Bella rounded the bend in a hurry, her beautiful face flushed with unabashed delight. She was, in a simple word, ravishing. He had scarcely enough time to note she wore a navy-and-cream-striped dress with a fall of hand-dyed ecru lace at her décolletage. Her black curls had been piled into an artful arrangement beneath a dashing chipped-straw hat that knocked him in the nose as she threw herself into his arms. He caught her around her tiny waist, holding her petite body against his for a few moments longer than necessary before returning her to the ground. He recalled every creamy expanse of her lush body beneath the layers of her walking dress, undergarments, and stiff corset.

  She reached up to press a hand to his cheek. “I’ve missed you. I confess I feared you wouldn’t come.”

  Very likely, he shouldn’t have. She deserved far better than a broken man for a husband. But he’d ruined her, and now there was no hope for either of them. He pressed a kiss to her blessedly bare palm, wanting her even more than he had the night he’d taken her. She made him feel as if he’d hurtled himself from the roof of the hotel he’d invested in with Thornton in New York, completely out of his skin, falling helplessly from a great height. “I made a promise to you, Bella.”

  A frown marred her expression. She was not pleased, it would appear. “I hope you aren’t suffering misgivings?”

  Was he? Hell yes. He was an utter jackass, taking advantage of her. She fancied herself in love with him. Christ, she didn’t even know the real man hiding behind his gentleman’s exterior. He shook himself from the grim thoughts that had been plaguing him with ceaseless persistence. “Of course not,” he said, taking care to keep his voice mild. He didn’t want to alarm her or cause her sweet face to crumple any more than it already had.

  She smiled, and a dart of heat shot directly to his groin. Why did she have to be so beautiful, so tempting, so charmingly bereft of feminine artifice? She was the opposite of every woman he’d known. Where others had been manipulative and self-serving, eager for the better man who came along, she was steadfast and earnest. She’d chosen her path and remained true. He wanted to gather her into his arms, carry her off into a secluded corner and make love to her all over again. Perhaps meeting her in secret hadn’t been the best course of action. It seemed his honorable self was at war with his lascivious self once more.

  “I’ve thought of little else but you,” she murmured, her voice soft and sweet.

  He wanted to love her, Christ he did. He just didn’t think he could. He closed his eyes for a moment against the onslaught of her loveliness. She was an angel. He wasn’t fit to even kiss the ribbon-trimmed train of her dress. Attempting to collect himself, he opened his eyes once more to find her gaze fixed upon him, her tender feelings evident in the openness of her expression. She wore her heart upon her silken, lace-bedecked sleeve.

  “It’s been the same for me,” he said, meaning his words but not in the way she likely thought. He couldn’t help but feel the traitor. She was open and loving. She ought to have better than the likes of him.

  “When can we be alone?” she asked. “Truly alone? Will you come to me tonight?”

  Dear God, he couldn’t bear to make love to her again, much as he longed to lie with her once more. He had to maintain his honor, to maintain her honor. Didn’t he? Ah, the temptation was ripe and strong as a magnolia in the Southern sun. Guilt assailed him anew. “I can’t, my dear. I wouldn’t risk your honor for the world.”

  She raised a brow, her face drawing into a quizzical knot. “But haven’t you already done so?” Bella paused, more inherently gorgeous than any woman had a right to be. He longed for her with a desperation that frightened him.

  He set her apart from him at an arm’s length, trying to maintain propriety. He was too old for this game, surely. He took a deep, exacting breath and found that he had utterly nothing to say to save himself.

  She frowned again, her full mouth tautening from a bow into a straight line. “Have you not already taken me as a husband would take a wife?”

  “Dear God, yes,” he hastened to answer. “Of course you must know I have. It’s simply that I will not sully you again.”

  Bella stepped forward, making him feel for the first time as if he, as a man grown, should retreat lest he devour her on the spot. She pursed her lips, looking a bit as if she’d taken a bite of a dinner she wasn’t convinced she liked. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Christ, he was making a mess of this. Everything had changed between them. He knew what she tasted like. He’d taken her maidenhead. He had spent himself inside her. He was responsible for her now in a way he hadn’t imagined he could be, duty-bound to become her husband. He’d been an orphan living with his maiden aunt in Richmond before running off to war, effectively having no family. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the magnitude of his sudden duties, not even the brief romance he’d shared with Lavinia.

  “I will come to you as your husband,” he endeavored to explain. “I am, from this point hence, yours.”

  She smiled again to rival the cheeriness of the soft autumn’s day, her air becoming teasing. “I should certainly hope so, Mr. Whitney. I daresay I was beginning to wonder.”

  He was abashed. “Naturally, I must ask your brother for his blessing.”

  She worried her full lower lip, her concern evident. “What do you think he shall say?”

  Jesse was well aware that he would have to be honest with his friend and reveal the full extent of his betrayal. He would not, however, tell Bella as much. No need to give her further cause to fret. “I expect he will be surprised, but given our long friendship, I hope he’ll give me his blessing to take you as my wife.”

  “Wife.” She cast him another beaming grin. “I find I rather like that title.”

  If he’d been in need of more lessons in humility, he wasn’t any longer. She was an aristocrat, the daughter of a marquis, happy to be wedding a Virginia boy who hadn’t called any place home in more than a decade. Naturally, he didn’t expect her to relinquish her title. It would all be a part of the settlement he reached with Thornton. “You will be welcome to keep your title, of course,” he hastened to say. “Mrs. Whitney certainly isn’t as illustrious a name as Lady Arabella.”

  “But I cannot think of any title I would wear with greater pride,” she told him, reaching up to cup his jaw in her fine-boned hand. “I don’t wish to be known as Lady Arabella after we wed. I wish only to be Mrs. Jesse Whitney.”

  He had to forcibly restrain himself from snatching her up in his arms then in a show of primitive ownership. He hadn’t been prepared for her to throw over her old life in favor of beginning anew with him. In his experience with the English nobility, it simply wasn’t done. He swallowed, his throat suddenly gone thick with emotions he chose not to examine. “Are you sure, my dear? You may want to rethink your remarkable loyalty.”

  She traced a path down his throat, her touch marking him as permanently as any brand. Her eyes were a vivid and gorgeous blue, pinning him to the spot. “I shall never have cause to rethink my loyalty to you, Jesse. I hope you always know how very much I love you.”

  If he hadn’t been drowning in a sea of shame before, he was now. He wanted to tell her he loved her in return. But he still wasn’t certain he ever could. He took her wandering hand in his and raised it to his mouth for a kiss. Once he caught a whiff of her glorious scent, he couldn’t stop at one and kissed a trail that nearly went to her elbow. He bunched up her walking dress and under sleeves as best as he could, desperate for her creamy skin.

  “You are too good for me,” he whispered against her, his head bowed. He couldn’t bear to look at her just now, not when she had him all but on his knees. He was powerless in the onslaught of her innate goodness, her sweet disposition. Their war was most certainly not a fair one.

  “Nonsense,” she was quick to say, her free hand raking through his hair. “I shall never be too good for my husband. It’s far more likely that you are too
good for me.”

  Her touch sent a sluice of desire down his spine. He wanted to stay in the golden, enchanted day forever, with Bella loving him without hesitation. In her eyes, he was a good man, a man worthy of her affections. He couldn’t bear to ever see her look at him with contempt, or perhaps with fear. She’d seen him in the grips of his madness only once, but the spell had been a mild one. He shuddered to think what would happen, what he was capable of doing, should a more violent episode attack him.

  “My darling,” he said lowly, the words torn from him, “You will always be too good for me.” He raised his head to meet her gaze once more. “You’d do well to never forget that.”

  “You are a far better man than you think, Jesse Whitney.” She drew him to her, and he allowed himself to be moved. She pressed her petite form to his, her heart beating fast against his chest even through her thick corset and the layers of her dress and undergarments.

  He hugged her to him tightly, keeping himself from kissing her with every shred of self-control he possessed. He lowered his mouth to her ear, sneaking his way beneath her monstrosity of a hat. “I will go to Thornton as soon as I can. Do you have a preferred month for a wedding?”

  “You won’t—” she paused, seemingly collecting herself. “You won’t tell Thornton that we’ve been…that is to say, you won’t tell him we’ve been as husband and wife already, will you? I couldn’t bear to face him if you did.”

  He pulled back, looking sternly down upon her. “Bella, I must go to him as a man and reveal that I have not treated you with honor. I fear our friendship depends upon it.”

  Concern marred her pretty features. “But what he doesn’t know surely cannot hurt him.”

  “My conscience will not allow any less,” he clarified. He owed that much to Thornton and to Bella. If his friend chose to send him on his way, then he would respect his wishes. He knew that if the situations had been reversed, Thornton would have shown him the selfsame consideration.

  “But surely you agree nothing can be gained by his knowledge?” she persisted, obviously distressed.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. The fault is purely mine, as a man of experience and age. You’ll not suffer.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment before fluttering them back open again, her expression resigned. “I suppose you will do as you must. But I beg you, wait for a sennight or two. My brother is already beset as it is by our mother, his fiancée Miss Cuthbert, and Lady Scarbrough. He has trouble enough.”

  In this instance, he reasoned, delay couldn’t hurt. He didn’t want to rush Bella if she wasn’t ready to face her brother. It was he who deserved punishment, not she. Perhaps given a few days to mull it over, he’d be able to muster up the proper words to bring to his friend. Likely not. Christ, he was doomed, and so was poor, lovely Bella.

  He bowed anyway. “It will be as you wish.”

  Dinner that evening was an awkward affair indeed. The dowager was determined to disparage Americans at every possibly opportunity. Bella’s irascible cousin Lord Fordham seemed to have been over-imbibing, the result of which led to rambling soliloquies punctuated with sweeping motions of his food-filled fork. Thornton was preoccupied with his fiancée and a tedious discussion of the Lambeth Street floods. Lady Scarbrough tittered with her two sisters. Bella was left attempting to hold a polite conversation with Jesse, which was exceedingly difficult given that he was seated rather far away and they were subject to an unwanted audience. She found it almost impossible to conduct bloodless discourse as though they hadn’t been in one another’s arms, as though he hadn’t promised to make her his wife.

  In the end, it was nearly a relief to retire to the drawing room and leave the gentlemen to their own devices. Bella seated herself, surprised when Lady Scarbrough and her sisters, Lady Stokey and Lady Helen, followed suit next to her. She didn’t know any of the ladies particularly well. All she did know was that the dowager was terribly distressed by Thornton’s sudden obsession with Lady Scarbrough. She thought she ought not to treat any of them with too much familiarity.

  For her part, the dowager settled herself with Miss Cuthbert and the girl’s mother and aunt. Bella wasn’t certain why her mother was so determined to see Thornton wedded to Miss Cuthbert. She well understood, of course, that he could not marry Lady Scarbrough as she was already married to the odious earl. But if Thornton loved the countess and she loved him, what was the harm? Bella sighed. Perhaps finding love of her own had altered the way she looked upon the world, for it hadn’t been long ago that she too despaired of her brother’s sudden defection from the moral path.

  Lady Stokey tipped her head in Bella’s direction and spoke sotto voce. “I don’t know about you, Lady Bella, but I daresay Lord Fordham ought not to be partaking of any more spirits.”

  Bella nearly laughed aloud at the woman’s daring, but the dowager was pinning her to the settee with a formidable, slit-eyed glare. She dared not. “I beg your pardon, my lady?” she asked, hoping to deflect Lady Stokey’s attention in another direction. While she remained appreciative that the older woman had been true to her word and kept Bella’s tryst with Jesse a secret, she still didn’t wish to earn her mother’s fury.

  “You may beg my pardon all you like,” she whispered, patting her elaborate blonde coiffure. “I know you aren’t as angelic as you pretend, my dear. Your cousin was drunk as a sailor on leave. I confess I was quite terrified he’d slop béchamel all over my silk.”

  Bella couldn’t help but giggle before stifling it with a hand pressed to her mouth. The woman had temerity. “I understand he favors whiskey,” she murmured back, shrugging.

  “Ah yes,” Lady Stokey responded. “Lord Fordham and a host of other men, of course. They all seem to favor whiskey, don’t they? Good Lord, my own husband was inordinately appreciative. Of whiskey, that is. And large quantities of food.” She sighed, appearing lost in her thoughts for a moment. “I do suppose it’s what ultimately did him in, the old reprobate.”

  Bella was taken aback by such open discussion of one’s husband, particularly a husband who was now deceased. “I shouldn’t think to question your husband’s spare activities, my lady,” she offered, feeling awkward indeed. “Although I daresay no end of men have been possessed of similar sentiments.”

  “Think nothing of it, my dear,” offered her ladyship with a careless wave of her dainty hand. “You must understand I’ve been a widow for some years now.”

  Being a widow didn’t seem to upset Lady Stokey in the least. To the contrary, it appeared to be a mantle she wore with great pleasure. Bella had never met his lordship, but she was privy to a host of gossip concerning him. It was said that Lady Stokey had married the old baron after having her heart broken by the Earl of Denbigh, who had broken their betrothal to wed another woman. Lord Stokey had been as wealthy as he was given to excess, and it was rumored he’d sired a dozen bastards by various opera singers over the years. Lady Stokey had not provided issue, but that didn’t seem to displease her either. She was known for lavish parties and keeping company with great artists and writers of the day.

  Bella actually found her terribly fascinating. She tossed a glance her mother’s way to find the dowager happily ensconced in conversation with Miss Cuthbert and her chaperones once again. How delightful it was to have plentiful distraction. Ordinarily, she couldn’t escape her mother’s censorious gaze unless she feigned sleep.

  “Tia,” Lady Helen inserted herself into the conversation, “do stop boring Lady Bella with tiresome talk of men and their moral failings. I daresay it’s a subject which could go on all evening.”

  “And well into the morning,” added Lady Scarbrough, speaking at last.

  She was an inherently lovely woman, small yet beautiful enough to draw attention wherever she went. It was little wonder Thornton was so drawn to her. There was also the matter of their history, of course. Bella knew her brother had been madly in love with Lady Scarbrough before she’d married the earl. What had happened between them to
cause such a rift remained unknown to her. She supposed the dowager knew but withheld the knowledge.

  Bella wanted to dislike Lady Scarbrough, truly she did. But she and her sisters made for a charming trio. She’d never had a sister, and she envied them their obviously close relationship.

  “I admire your dress, Lady Scarbrough,” she ventured, tentatively seeking to forge a truce. If her brother had brought the woman here to Marleigh Manor, he was serious about her indeed. She hadn’t the slightest inkling as to what he planned to do with his fiancée, poor Miss Cuthbert.

  Lady Scarbrough sent her a cautious but warm smile. “Thank you, Lady Bella. You’re most kind.”

  The dowager’s head snapped up then, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Apparently, she’d discovered Bella was consorting with the enemy. And it was plain from the pinched expression she wore that she did not approve.

  “My dear daughter,” she said with a signature harrumph. “I was just having the most delightful discussion with Miss Cuthbert about embroidery.”

  Bella stifled a groan. She detested needlework of all sorts. But perhaps not as much as she detested being the object of her mother’s ire. She pinned a falsely bright smile to her lips. “Indeed? I do so love embroidery.”

  Best, she reasoned, to stay on the dowager’s good side. After all, she’d soon be making her mother angry enough when she made it known that she wished to marry Jesse. No doubt the dowager would not react to the news with aplomb. Truly, she dreaded it, but it was a necessity. Nothing would stop her from becoming Mrs. Jesse Whitney, she vowed.

  Nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  Over a month had passed since Jesse had met Bella in the garden, and they still weren’t any closer to being betrothed. He and Bella had both decided to wait a fortnight, given that Thornton had been under a great deal of stress from all directions. After confiding in Jesse that he was in love with the married Lady Scarbrough, Thornton had sent Miss Cuthbert and her companions on their merry way. Thornton was living openly with Lady Scarbrough as his mistress, and while the storms of gossip had yet to completely weather his reputation, it was all just beginning. To Jesse, the securing of his future with Bella was far too precious to embark upon with haste, and while he wanted nothing more than to call her his—selfish though it was of him—he also wanted to win his friend over as best he could. He owed that much at least to Bella, to make the process as easy for her as possible.