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

by Scarlett Scott

  Worried, she secured her dressing gown at her waist, took up a candle, and stepped out into the hall, trying to determine the direction of the sound. The cry came again. She moved along the corridor in the darkness, following the unmistakable sound of someone hollering as if the hounds of hell were upon his heels. Unless she was wrong, the voice belonged to Jesse.

  At last, she stopped outside the chamber where she thought the noises were emanating from. Thumps sounded from within, along with another cry. She didn’t waste a moment in sweeping open the door. In the dim glow of the flickering candlelight, she could make out a form in the bed. Some books and other items littered the floor, presumably knocked from their perch atop a nearby washstand.

  “Jesse, is that you?” She tentatively entered the room.

  He cried out again, twisting in the bed. Fear skittered through her. What if he was ill? She rushed to his side, placing the candle on the washstand before giving him a shake. Hands gripped her arms with painful force, dragging her against the bed and nearly atop it. She saw Jesse’s face then, illuminated in the light, his expression so twisted and rage-filled she almost didn’t recognize him.

  “Jesse?” she managed, understanding he was still half-asleep, trapped in whatever nightmare had been plaguing him. “Wake up. It’s me, Bella.”

  “Bella?” He blinked, the lines of his face gradually softening, his gaze lucid once more. “Christ, what are you doing in here?”

  “I heard someone in distress and followed the sounds to this chamber,” she said, relieved when he eased his punishing hold on her.

  “Have I hurt you?” He sat up, his gaze searching her face. “Please tell me I haven’t hurt you.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she murmured, rubbing her arms, still reeling with shock. “But what about you, Jesse? Blessed angels’ sakes, I thought you were being murdered in your bed.”

  His expression was as grim as his voice. “So did I.”

  Bella frowned, searching his gaze as she tried to make sense of it all. She recalled his reaction to the mere mentioning of shooting at Lady Cosgrove’s party. He had told her then that he suffered nightmares sometimes. But this, it seemed, was far worse than she had supposed. Dear God, he had looked like a marauding warrior prepared to do bloody battle. “Is this why you haven’t been sleeping in your chamber? Is this why you’ve hidden yourself away in this far-off room all this time?”

  He closed his eyes and passed a hand over his drawn face, appearing suddenly weak. “They’ve gotten worse again,” he admitted finally, as if the truth had been torn from him.

  Dear God. And she’d once thought he had a mistress. All this time, he’d been alone and in pain, hiding his agony from her so that she wouldn’t see, wouldn’t worry. He needed her, she realized. This was where he’d been all along, hiding in another chamber just out of earshot from her. Why hadn’t he simply told her the truth? Sadness swept over her, that he had been suffering in silence, that he had to bear the burden of his demons alone. How had they come to be two rather than one as they ought to have been? Somehow, it had all gone terribly astray.

  “Move to the side, if you please,” she instructed him primly. She was keenly aware that he was perhaps nude beneath his bedclothes but she remained unwilling to allow him to endure alone in his torment. Their ugly argument and the hurt she’d been holding onto vanished. She was getting into bed with her husband for the first time in a week. She shucked her dressing gown, leaving the only barrier between them her nightdress.

  He watched her, his eyes burning into hers with the smoldering intensity she remembered. After apparently mulling over her request, he decided to do as she asked. The coverlet slipped down as he slid to the side, exposing his chest and a slice of his lean hip. She wanted to divert her gaze but found she could not. She was hungry for him, and there was no denying it.

  Bella climbed into bed next to him beneath the bedclothes. His body radiated heat. She caught his scent and a wave of longing slammed over her before she could stop it. Tentatively, she placed her palm on the smooth and muscled plane of his shoulder. For the first time, she felt a round scar low on his back. Before she could even think twice, she traced a gentle path over the old injury.

  He flinched and caught her wrist in a punishing grip. “Don’t.”

  The strength of his grasp sent a twinge of pain shooting up her arm, but she ignored it. “You were wounded.”

  Jesse clenched his jaw, clearly fighting to regain his composure. “Yes,” he hissed.

  One-word responses. Perhaps she ought not to push him, but she couldn’t help herself. She had known him as her brother’s friend for years, had known him as her lover and now her husband, and yet he still kept so much of himself from her. She had never before seen a hint of his physical injuries, nor had he mentioned them to her. But the wound was obviously from the past, long-ago healed. On the outside, at least.

  “What happened to you, Jesse?” she pressed, wanting to know. The night was heavy with the unspoken.

  “I don’t want to talk about the war,” he ground out, his tone as hard as the intricately carved oak of the bed.

  “I’m your wife,” she pointed out needlessly. She wasn’t going to allow him to fend her off as she suspected he’d been doing for the last few weeks. “Does it still pain you?”

  He still held her wrist but with considerably less force now. “At times,” he allowed.

  She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Something about the way he seemed so alone and broken was making her stomach feel as upended as a tipped teacup. Her emotions were riding a runaway carriage. The impasse that had fallen between them with its resulting gulf of anger and disillusionment no longer seemed as strong as it had only yesterday.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked, tugging her wrist from him.

  He stared, seemingly waging an inner war. “I was shot in the back,” he said at last, “by one of my own men. Fortunately, the bullet missed its mark and only resulted in an ugly flesh wound.”

  “You never told me,” she murmured, “not in all this time. I hadn’t realized.”

  Jesse shrugged, still radiating a wildness that made her ill at ease. “You can’t go to hell without getting burned.”

  Bella turned his words over in her mind. While she knew precious little about the war, it seemed odd indeed to her that he had been shot by another Confederate. She had a feeling there remained something more to his story. “Why would a fellow soldier shoot you?”

  He stiffened. “Enough. Leave off your questioning for this evening.”

  Her fingers grazed where his skin was puckered and dented once again. It was the only flaw on his otherwise broad and sturdy back. Someone had done him harm, caused him physical anguish, and she didn’t like the feeling her new knowledge gave her. Unlike the gunshot, however, the emotional anguish had never healed. She wanted to make him whole again, but she wasn’t certain if it was within her power to do so.

  She looked back up into his guarded face. “Why won’t you let me in, Jesse?”

  “You don’t want to be where I am, my dear.” He looked away from her. “One spoiled apple rots the entire basket, as they say. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re hurting me by pushing me away,” she countered. She began a pattern of slow, calming circles on his shoulders. “I told you many times that you cannot forever be a man alone.”

  “That was a very long time ago, Bella, and you were too naïve to realize what you were in for.” His tone was self-deprecating.

  “There’s a difference between naiveté and love.” The assertion was out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

  His eyes jerked back to hers. “You don’t want me. You said you wished I’d never returned.”

  She frowned, dismayed by her childish need to inflict the same hurt he’d dealt her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of the awful words I said to you.”

  “Don’t be. You’re taking the Duke of Dullness for a lover, r
emember?” His lips quirked into a sneer.

  Bella shook her head, once more ashamed by what she had done. “I don’t want the Duke of Devonshire,” she admitted.

  “Ah.” He frowned. “Who is it you long for then, my dear?”

  Who did she long for? Blessed angels, there was only one man she wanted, only one man she had ever wanted. Bella stared at him, her heart aching with the love he seemed determined not to allow her to give him. “You,” she whispered.

  “But you already have me. I’m your husband.”

  “And yet you have been secreting away from me in this chamber, devoting yourself to business as if you can’t bear the sight of me,” she pointed out.

  “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to see this side of me.” His voice was as somber as his expression.

  “Being husband and wife isn’t about hiding ourselves from one another.” She cupped his firm jaw. “I want to see all your sides, the witty, the dashing, the silly, the scared. If you’re hurting, I want to know so that I may help you heal.”

  “I don’t know, my love. There are parts of me I don’t wish for you to see.” He kissed her palm.

  Bella was not about to be deterred by lovemaking, tempting though it may be. “Why did you keep all of this a secret from me, Jesse? Why did you not tell me? I could have helped you.”

  “By putting yourself in harm’s way?” He scoffed. “It’s my duty to protect you.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, determined.

  “You damn well ought to be,” he replied harshly. “I’ve been violent, Bella. When I returned to London, I woke to bloodied fists and holes in my bedchamber wall. I cannot and will not subject you to my madness.”

  Her heart ached for him. “You aren’t mad, Jesse. Don’t you see? If your dreams have grown worse, there can only be one reason for it.”

  “Do tell.”

  The pieces of the puzzle seemed to unerringly fit together in that moment. “What are your nightmares about?”

  He tensed, his eyes darkening yet again. “Battle.”

  Precisely. She felt as if all the answers were within her reach now. “And when you returned for Clara, where did you go?”

  “Virginia.” He frowned. “You know that. I’ve already told you.”

  “Yes, and where were you shot?” she asked, hating to blow the dust off his old pains, but convinced there was no other way to confront his demons, perhaps go a long way toward slaying them.

  “Virginia,” he bit out. “What the hell is this about, Bella?”

  “It’s about fighting the past,” she said, unbothered. “You seem to think that hiding yourself down the hall and lying to me will fix your problems, but in truth it has only made them worse. We’ve grown apart when we should have been growing together. There must not be secrets between us any longer.”

  “I didn’t want you to think me mad,” he said, the admission seemingly torn from him. “I hoped the dreams would vanish on their own, in time. I had been able to control them before, but now it seems as if they seek to destroy me.”

  “I would never think you mad,” she told him, meaning every word. “I believe I know the reason why your nightmares have grown worse.”

  “Indeed?” His tone was wry. “Then you must be capable of working miracles, for I’ve been trying my damnedest to figure it out for months.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated, not wanting to further distress him but convinced she could help him better understand the dreams that had been blighting him. And perhaps with understanding would come healing. “You buried your memories of war away because they were too terrible for you to recall. When you returned to Virginia, it all came back to you.”

  He exhaled slowly, his skin becoming pale even in the low light. “You may be right.” He closed his eyes. “Bella, there’s something I must tell you.”

  She slipped her arm around his shoulders and drew him to her, trying to give him solace in the only way she knew how. “What is it, my love?”

  He laid his head upon her breast as a shudder racked his strong body. “The man who shot me was Lavinia’s lover. I was in Richmond. The whole city was on fire, or so it seemed. We were retreating when I was shot in the back. I’ll never forget the smell, the crying of the wounded all through the night. A Union detail passed through but I lay there, pretending to be dead. At dawn, I dragged myself to a friendly encampment. Somehow, by the grace of God, they had a medic who attended me, or else I would have died like so many others.”

  Dear God. How horrible it must have been to be utterly alone in the night, wounded and terrified. She ran a soothing hand over his hair, holding him tightly to her, wishing she could absorb his pain. “How did you know it was Lavinia’s lover who shot you?”

  He wrapped his arms about her waist, his grip so strong she feared he meant to snap her in two. “When I found my regiment, the war was nearly over, and our men were all readying to return to their homes. But there were those who had witnessed what he had done. By that time, he’d already deserted and run off with Lavinia and my daughter. It was too late for retribution.”

  “Oh, Jesse.” Tears stung her eyes to think how much he must have endured. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He looked up at her, his eyes glittering with moisture. “I never would have met you if not for my past. After what had happened, the South was in ruins. I was in ruins. I left without a clue where I was headed, and I never looked back.”

  “Until circumstances forced you to,” she finished for him.

  “I wouldn’t trade you or Clara for a life of comfort and ease.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I’d go to war all over again just for the chance to be your husband.”

  She released a sob then, part happiness, part sadness. “I love you so very much, Jesse Whitney.”

  “And I love you, my darling,” he murmured before claiming her lips in a voracious kiss. “I’m sorry for not being entirely honest. I should have told you everything, but I was too damn afraid of losing you. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course,” she said without pause. “I only want to ease your burdens. Promise me that from now on you’ll no longer suffer in silence?”

  “God, I don’t know how I was somehow fortunate enough to find you.” His voice was hoarse, his gaze intense.

  Bella smiled, relieved for her tears to subside. How lovely it was to simply rejoice in the love they shared. “I feel precisely the same way.”

  He grinned, his dimple reappearing with irrepressible charm. “Maybe you can’t get to heaven without first going through hell.”

  “However we got here, all that matters now is that we’re here together,” she said firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Nor am I.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

  “I mean it,” she pressed on. “I’m spending the night right here by your side, tonight and every other night after.”

  His mouth flattened into a thin, stubborn line. “Bella—”

  “Nonsense,” she interrupted. “Nothing you can say shall change my mind. No more hiding away here on your own. We’re in this together, Jesse.”

  “I never know when they’ll come upon me, Bella. I won’t have you hurt for all the world.” He caressed her cheek. “You’re too precious to me.”

  She shook her head, her decision already made a long time ago. “I don’t give a fig about your nightmares. My place is by your side, and by your side is where I’ll stay.”

  His eyes gaze burned into hers. “My darling girl, what would I do without you to slay my dragons?”

  Heart bursting with love, Bella leaned into him to seal their mouths in a hungry kiss. “You’ll never have to find out, my love.”

  “Thank God,” he said on a groan, crushing her to him for another kiss that was as fiery as the passion burning between them. He lifted the delicate fabric of her nightdress over her head, and they both quite promptly forgot about everything but one other and the powerful bond of love they shared.

&
nbsp; Epilogue

  “I daresay your time in England thus far has been a most improving experience for you, Miss Whittlesby. You aren’t looking nearly as dowdy as you once were.”

  Bella suppressed a sigh as she glanced up from her dinner plate to the dowager, who was presiding over the family gathering like the proud—if a trifle rude—matriarch she was. Poor Clara was doing her best to maintain her composure. Dressed in a navy gown, she was looking quite the demure young lady. Her shopping escapades with Lady Stokey and her finishing lessons had truly transformed her. Looking at her now, one would never guess that she wasn’t an English lady born and bred. She was settling in well to her London surroundings.

  “Maman,” Bella felt compelled to protest on her stepdaughter’s behalf, for she had recently decided to be known as Miss Whitney rather than Miss Jones, and it pleased Jesse greatly. “You must cease insisting upon mispronouncing our family name. It’s Whitney.”

  Her mother’s hawk like countenance turned upon her. She raised an imperious brow. “Just so. That’s precisely what I said. Is it not?”

  Jesse gave her hand a gentle squeeze, as if to remind her that while the dowager had softened in some surprising ways over the last few months, she was still after all the dowager, a cunning curmudgeon who would never completely budge from her old ways. “It is indeed, my lady,” he drawled, offering a quick wink to Bella.

  She sent a grateful smile his way. Thank heavens her husband seemed to possess infinite amounts of patience, particularly where the dowager was concerned. She and her mother had begun to mend the damage between them. Bella wasn’t entirely ready to forget the dowager’s unwanted interference, but she was willing to forgive.

  The dowager harrumphed. “I fear you’ve something in your eye, Mr. Whittlesby,” she announced sharply.

  “Perhaps it’s a tear of joy?” Thornton suggested with a rascal’s grin. “I’m sure he finds dinner with you to be a most improving experience, Mother.”

  Cleo pinned her husband with a halfheartedly stern frown. “Alex, must you forever be stirring up trouble?”