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

by Scarlett Scott

  Tia leaned into the duke as she stood, wincing when the pressure of weight upon her ankle produced more pronounced pain. Oh dear, perhaps she’d sprained it. However would she contain Miss Whitney if she were hobbled like an old dowager for the entirety of the party?

  “I thought you said on the count of three,” she groused, rather cut up about the entire situation.

  First, her charge had disappeared. Then, Tia had reacted to Devonshire as if she were a smitten young girl straight off her comeout. Now she’d fallen in a heap before him. And she still hadn’t located Miss Whitney. This fortnight was certainly off to a marvelous start.

  “Put your weight on me,” he ordered next, ignoring her. “I’ll walk you to the bench, and then I’ll take a look at your ankle to see what damage has been done.”

  “No.” She tried to extricate herself from his grasp without success. “I don’t require your assistance, Your Grace.”

  “Nonsense.” When she continued to attempt her escape, he caught her up in his arms.

  Tia’s hands went to his shoulders for purchase, finding them just as solid and strong as they looked. “Good heavens, put me down at once,” she told him. If his proximity before had been tempting, it was now alarming. She could smell his scent, a deliciously masculine blend of soap, spice and the outdoors. She could feel the fine fabric of his jacket beneath her fingertips. His golden hair curled down over his collar, brushing against her as he moved. And she could detect the faintest flecks of gray in his otherwise perfectly blue eyes. It didn’t escape her notice that he’d scooped her up without a bit of strain, as though she weighed little more than a handful of feathers.

  He disregarded her request to put her back on her own two feet and carried her to the bench where he’d been sitting when she’d first interrupted him. He gently lowered her to its hard surface, and she had to secretly admit that she was somewhat disappointed to no longer be in his arms. When he sank to his knees before her, reaching beneath her skirts, her disappointment turned to dismay.

  “Your Grace,” she protested. “What are you about?”

  “Hush,” he dismissed her concerns, his hand closing around the ankle that was giving her pain. “I’m seeing to your injury.”

  “You needn’t.” She endeavored to pull her limb from his grasp, to no avail. His touch was warm and gentle through her stockings. A sudden rush of awareness threatened to swallow her whole. A wicked, luxurious heat settled between her thighs. She tamped it down. “For heaven’s sake, I’m fine. I’m merely in a bit of pain, but it shall pass.”

  But his fingers were already gently at work, angling her foot this way and that. “It would be remiss of me not to make certain you haven’t done yourself serious harm. You took quite a spill.”

  Oh dear. Little more than a dull throb plagued her ankle now, but another throb had taken up residence within her. A decidedly naughty one. She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Truly, Your Grace. This is most improper.”

  He was insistent in playing the role of savior. “Does this hurt?” He pressed his thumb against her inner foot.

  “No.” Quite the opposite. It felt wonderfully good. Too bad he was not at all the sort of man for an inamorato. The wickedness in her pulled her skirts just a bit higher anyway, revealing the curve of her calf.

  The duke’s touch moved north as well, feeling suspiciously like a caress. “What of this?”

  She flinched when he found the exact spot on her ankle where the soreness originated. “Yes.”

  He stopped his ministrations and glanced up, his gaze meeting hers. She wondered if he could tell she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended and hoped not. He moved her foot again with one hand while holding her ankle with the other. “I don’t think you’ve broken anything, fortunately. But it does feel a trifle swollen. More than likely, you’ve sprained it. You’ll need to rest for the remainder of the day.”

  Tia scoffed, doing her best to disregard his lingering touch. “I haven’t time to rest. I have a wayward young American to locate and browbeat to within an inch of her wretched life.”

  “That sounds pressing indeed,” he told her solemnly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to enlist someone else to help hunt your charge down for the life-threatening browbeating.”

  He released her ankle and pulled her skirts back into place. Tia felt the loss of his touch like an ache. This ridiculous reaction to him had to stop. She’d been a widow for several years, but she took great care with her lovers. She didn’t simply set her cap for a man because he was beautiful and happened to touch her ankle and had a deliciously rakish beard.

  Tia stared at him as he stood, an idea taking root in her mind. Yes, it was the perfect solution for her sudden, inconvenient and thoroughly foolish attraction to the Duke of Devonshire. After all, it would be a wonderful coup for Miss Whitney to bring a duke up to scratch. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to assist me in locating Miss Whitney?” she asked, giving the duke her most charming smile.

  He nodded, picking up the book that he’d abandoned on the bench when he’d rushed to her rescue. “Of course, my lady. But in the meantime, I fear you’ll need my aid to escape from the maze first.” He offered her his arm.

  Tia took it, allowing him to tug her to her feet. Her ankle still hurt but not nearly as badly as it first had after her inconvenient spill. “Thank you, Your Grace. You’re most kind.” And easily trapped, she hoped. For it would certainly be a boon to her if she could settle the troublesome Miss Whitney with a suitable gentleman at the first opportunity. A man very much like the Duke of Devonshire.

  Heath aided Lady Stokey back to the main house, mindful of her limping gait and his painful arousal both. Had he known that touching her would prove so bloody dangerous to his restraint, he never would have so much as laid a finger upon her hem. But he’d been carried away by his concern, the need to make certain she hadn’t broken a bone. From the moment he’d caught her up in his arms, he’d had a troubling suspicion that he was walking down a path from which there would be no return. Lady Stokey was an ethereal beauty, as golden as an angel with finely formed features, lush red lips and wide eyes the color of a meadow in spring. She’d smelled of violets.

  He could still smell her now if he leaned near enough.

  But the greatest folly of all had been lifting her skirts to reveal her trim, lovely legs. He’d stolen a peek all the way to her knees when he first lifted her silk and petticoats aside. He hadn’t been able to help himself. And it had been worth it. Touching her had been intoxicating. He’d never before caressed a woman’s limbs through her stockings, but he would now forever find the act unbearably erotic.

  Unless he missed his guess, she hadn’t been immune either. He’d caught the way her lips had parted, the way the green of her eyes had deepened, the way she’d lifted her hem even higher. It was too bad, really, that he was in search of a wife and not a mistress. If it had been a mistress he was after, he would have escorted Lady Stokey to her chamber and then joined her inside. To the devil with her nuisance of a young charge.

  Instead, he was playing the role he’d honed well over the years. Perfect gentleman. “How is your ankle faring, my lady?” he asked, still desperate to distract himself from the inconvenient state of his cock.

  She turned to him, her elaborately styled blonde locks glinting in the sun. In her haste to chase after her charge, she’d neglected to wear a hat and he was grateful for it. “In truth, it’s still paining me, but I daresay it shan’t be the death of me.”

  He’d always thought Lady Stokey something of a flighty woman. Though on occasion he’d traveled in the periphery of her circles, they’d never truly engaged in much conversation. That she was clever surprised him. In his experience, there ordinarily wasn’t much substance to a woman of beauty. He’d known a few exceptions, of course, but they were just that. Exceptions.

  A distinct expression of pain now furrowed her brow as she limped through the maze. He disliked seeing her suffering. “I would be more than
happy to carry you to your chamber, Lady Stokey,” he volunteered out of a combined sense of duty and desire. He had to admit that holding her in his arms once more would not precisely be a hardship.

  “Heavens no,” she objected immediately. “If I sap all your strength, you’ll have none left to pursue Miss Whitney, wherever she may be.”

  She’d gone back to watching the ground before them, giving him her profile. He instantly regretted his hasty offer to locate her charge. Miss Whitney had indeed ventured past him in the maze, and though she was but a slip of a girl, he suspected she was a wily foe if the way she’d flummoxed Lady Stokey was any indication. He hadn’t the patience for silly young girls.

  “You’ll not sap my strength so easily,” he reassured her. Lady Stokey, for all her layers of dress, had been as light as a bird in his arms. And like a bird, she was a tiny, gorgeous creature.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed suddenly, her expression crumpling as she clenched his arm in a rigid grip. “Oh dear.”

  He stopped, sliding an arm round her waist, the better to give her purchase and keep weight off her injured leg. The maddening scent of violets enveloped him. “Perhaps you’ll permit me to carry you after all.”

  “No,” she denied even as she clutched his arm and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You mustn’t. I can walk on my own. I may lack grace, but I’m no weakling.”

  A weakling she was not. A stubborn woman, however, she was. He decided not to allow her the opportunity for further argument. Heath tucked his book inside his coat, then bent and once more scooped her up.

  “Your Grace,” she remonstrated, her tone one of surprise mingled with disapproval. Her hands linked around his neck. Her lovely Cupid’s bow of a mouth was so very near to his. If he but dipped his head, he could take her lips.

  No, damn it. He could not. He forced himself to stare straight ahead and carry them from the maze. He’d come to Penworth in search of a wife, and he was determined to stay the course. Lady Stokey, tempting though she may be, was not the woman for him. Her reputation preceded her, and he didn’t want a butterfly as his mate. Rather, he wanted a bookworm. A woman of substance. A woman of loyalty who was willing to respect her husband. Not a dazzlingly seductive widow with a string of lovers in her past and a penchant for throwing wild soirees. Regardless of how delicious she smelled and how alluring she felt in his arms.

  “I’ll not have another word of protest,” he informed her coolly. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to carry on while in such obvious pain.”

  As he entered the house, Lady Thornton, his hostess and Lady Stokey’s sister, appeared before him, having been interrupted in directing her housekeeper. The sisters were opposites in appearance, one dark, the other light, but both equally lovely. Worry clouded the marchioness’s face. “What has happened?”

  “I merely sprained my ankle. Tell this insufferable man to put me on my feet,” Lady Stokey demanded in a queenly accent.

  Heath exchanged a commiserating glance with Lady Thornton. “This insufferable man is attempting to keep her ladyship from doing herself further harm. If you’ll be so kind as to direct me to her chamber?”

  His hostess raised an inky brow at his request. He knew he could have simply deposited Lady Stokey in the drawing room, but he was on a mission now. He couldn’t very well abandon his damsel in distress partway through his rescue. But if she thought his actions odd, in the end Lady Thornton chose to keep her misgivings to herself. “The east wing, third door to your left.”

  He nodded to her. “Thank you.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Lady Stokey chimed in. “I’m perfectly capable of walking. Cleo, tell him.”

  “You mustn’t take any chances,” her sister called after them as Heath stalked in the direction of the stairs. “You’ll not want to be injured for the party, dearest sister.”

  Heath gave his reluctant armful a victorious glance. “You see? Finally, a voice of reason. Listen to your sister if not me.” He took the steps with ease, grateful that all the hard labor he’d been performing on his estate had finally rewarded him. He wasn’t even winded.

  The same could not be said for Lady Stokey, whose cheeks were pink and whose breath seemed too quick for a woman at rest. Her eyes snapped emerald fire at him. He had to admit she was even more captivating when irritated. “Voice of reason indeed.” She tipped up her chin in a show of defiance. “Since when is carrying an able-bodied woman about as if she were a sack of turnips considered reasonable?”

  “I would never carry a sack of turnips with such great care,” he told her solemnly. There it was again, her heavenly scent, teasing his senses and his cock both. He forced himself to keep to the matter at hand. “Though I must confess I wonder what circumstances in life would require one to carry a sack of turnips to begin with.”

  “Bother.” Her lips compressed and she turned her head away from him again, apparently too cross to even continue berating him.

  She was pricklier than a cornered hedgehog. He rather enjoyed nettling her and a sudden, wicked impulse to continue hit him just then. “Oh dear,” he said, feigning worry.

  That deep, warm gaze swung back to his. “What is it?”

  “I fear I’m going to sneeze,” he told her.

  “Good heavens.” Her eyes widened and then narrowed as the grin he couldn’t quite contain emerged. “You’re not serious.”

  “No.” He reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall.

  “That was not a kind jest, Your Grace,” Lady Stokey chastised him.

  He stopped before her chamber door. “Perhaps not kind but certainly humorous. Would you be so obliging as to turn the knob for me, my lady?”

  Making a sound of irritation, she did as he asked. Something within him stirred as he stepped over the threshold into her private rooms. He pushed the door closed with his shoulder, trying to ignore the awareness creeping over him. Damn it, what was it about the small woman in his arms that made him want her so much? He’d seen more than his fair share of beauties. He’d long thought himself immune to the lure of a lovely woman. The lust coursing through him made little sense. He hadn’t been so moved by the mere presence of a woman since Bess. The thought of the sweet, innocent woman he’d loved made his blood run a bit colder. She could not have been more different than the willful, decadent Lady Stokey.

  Heath stalked the last few feet to her bed, stopping to carefully lower her to it. Lady Stokey’s eyes were on his. Their noses nearly brushed. Her lips parted. The desire he’d been doing his damnedest to dash away returned, hitting him in the gut with the force of a punch.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Her hands were still on his shoulders, burning him through his jacket, waistcoat and shirt.

  “You’re most welcome,” he returned in a voice gone rough. He knew he should straighten, put some distance between them, ring for her maid and leave the chamber. But she was a temptation he couldn’t resist. From the moment she’d rounded the bend in the maze and he’d caught sight of her, the sun glinting in her golden curls and twin patches of pink on her cheeks, her curves molded in a scarlet day dress, he’d been thinking of kissing her. Undoing the line of buttons on her bodice. Peeling her out of her gown to see if her breasts were as full and luscious as they appeared beneath her proper layers.

  Before his conscience allowed him to change his mind, he lowered his mouth to hers. She opened to him and he took advantage, sweeping his tongue inside to taste her. Her fingers slid from his shoulder to his neck, sinking into his hair. An arrow of heat shot directly to his cock, making him instantly hard. One of his hands moved to her elaborate coiffure, itching to undo it and unleash her long blonde curls. With his other hand, he cupped her breast. She arched into him, filling his palm with the curve of her breast that wasn’t contained by her corset, making a throaty sound of appreciation deep in her throat.

  He wondered if her nipples were hard, and if they were the same pretty pink as her soft lips.

  Damnation
.

  He hadn’t meant to give in to his baser instincts. But now that he had, he couldn’t seem to stop. He wanted more of her. Couldn’t help himself from pressing his knee to the bed and leaning over her, the better to kiss her senseless. When her tongue ventured against his, a shot of unadulterated, reckless need blazed straight through him as if it were an inferno. He dragged his mouth down her throat, kissing the creamy skin he’d admired in the gardens. She even tasted of violets, sweet and floral, and for some reason, he found it incredibly erotic. The high lace collar of her gown served as an impediment for further exploration, so he released her breast to find the line of fabric-covered buttons keeping him from what he desperately wanted. He slipped them from their moorings, returning to her mouth for another deep, passionate kiss.

  One, two, three, four. He counted each button he freed in his mind, eager to see and touch the skin he’d revealed. He wanted her so badly he ached with it. And if her response was any indication, she wanted him back with every bit as much fervor. Five, six, seven, eight.

  Heath broke the kiss and raised his head to gaze down at his handiwork. Her red bodice had gaped over her breasts, exposing two generous swells above her white embroidered chemise. He met her gaze then, sensing her watching him. Her mossy eyes were glazed with passion, her lips swollen from his kisses. Several of her curls had come free of their pins, tumbling about her shoulders. Even mostly clothed, she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. He wanted to toss up her skirts, find the slit in her drawers and slide home. Deep inside her.

  “Is this why you insisted upon carrying me to my chamber, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice breathless. Dazed. Slightly on guard.

  He couldn’t blame her. Her words sliced through the haze of yearning clouding his brain. Dear God. What had come over him? He’d meant to aid her, to keep her from harming herself. Instead, he’d closeted himself inside her chamber and all but ravished her. She was an incapacitated woman, for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t as if she could flee him.