A Matter of Temptation (16 page)

“Who in the hell duels anymore?”

“Apparently Weddington does.”

“You’re still joking about it.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified that she was screeching like a shrew.

Her husband’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment—”

“Of course,” Weddington said.

Robert came to stand behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, let’s step outside for a moment.”

“It’s still raining, which is the reason that we’re still here!”

“No, we’re here because our friends asked us to stay. And by outside, I simply meant out of this room.”

She got to her feet, looked at the duke and duchess. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Eleanor said. “You’re leaving gives me the chance to have a few harsh words with my Weddy. I’d planned to do so in the privacy of our bedchamber, but here works just as well.”

“You’ll upset my digestion,” Weddington said.

But when his wife glared at him, he simply sighed, laid down his fork, and said, “So it appears my digestion will be upset. Better that than my wife.”

Robert escorted her out of the dining room, and once in the large hallway, took her hand, and led her through the labyrinth of rooms.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace with a bit more privacy.”

They finally went into a darkened hallway. A footman opened the door, and Robert pulled her
into what she realized was the library. At the far end, lit candelabras flickered on either side of the room. This end, however, was shadowy. As soon as the footman closed the door behind them, Robert drew her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Torie I’m dreadfully sorry.”

She pressed her face to his chest, relishing the warmth, the scent of him. He’d been drenched by the time he and Weddington had finally reached the manor. The servants had shown him to a bedchamber where he’d apparently bathed and changed into some of Weddington’s clothes, but through them all, she detected his unique scent, a fragrance she’d feared would be forever lost to her after she’d heard the initial gunshot.

“I know I’m being unbearably silly—”

“No, no.” He cut her off. “I’m not accustomed to being married, to thinking of anyone other than myself. I gave no thought to what you might be experiencing, and I should have. Forgive me for allowing my thoughtlessness to cause you such distress.”

Pulling back, she studied his face, the genuine concern reflected within the blue depths of his eyes. She’d not looked into those eyes nearly enough, not a lifetime’s worth, and it suddenly occurred to her how very fond she’d grown of him. And how silly she’d been to have had any doubts at all about marrying him.

He grazed his knuckles along her cheek.
“Weddington should have known, though. He’s been married a trifle longer. If the rain stops tomorrow I believe I’ll call him out—”

“Don’t you dare!”

He held her gaze only a heartbeat longer before he lowered his head a bit. He was turned toward the candles so she could see his face clearly, could see his eyes darken with desire, beckoning to the wildness in her, wildness she’d not even known she possessed.

“Don’t you dare call him out,” she whispered, surprised by the raspy quality of her voice. “But do dare to kiss me.”

His eyes widened slightly, as though in surprise, before a strange kaleidoscope of emotions she couldn’t decipher passed over his face, then his mouth was on hers and all thoughts of deciphering anything went clear out of her head. She was aware only of the scalding heat of his kiss, the enticing lure of his tongue and the delightful manner in which he plied his skills. And he
was
skilled.

She wound her arms around his neck, scraped her fingers along his neck into his hair. Groaning low, he pulled her closer, his arms like strong bands of steel. She raised herself up on her toes to give him easier access and to improve the angle of his mouth over hers.

He willingly took what she offered, responding with a feral growl and a deepening of the kiss that sent pleasure spiraling through her all the
way down to her toes. They curled in response; her entire body seemed to be curling and unfurling, as though each sensation enticed one of greater magnitude.

She plowed her fingers into his hair, scraped her nails along his scalp, holding him nearer, keeping herself tethered. She’d thought she’d lost him this afternoon, only to discover now that she’d never really possessed him: not heart, soul, and body. She’d been waltzing along the outskirts of love as though it were a frozen pond, fearful of stepping out onto it, afraid that it would crack and shatter beneath the weight. Trying to protect her heart, and in the protecting she was causing it harm.

She no longer wanted to be safe, because he wasn’t safe. He was a danger to her heart, but he was also a salvation.

She suspected that he was harboring the same fears, and that was the very reason that he had yet to make love to her, because he could sense that she was holding back her heart, and he wanted everything. For the first time since she’d met him, she was willing to give it.

Everything, all of herself.

She slipped her hands inside his jacket, pressed her palms against his chest, and felt the hard, almost violent pounding of his heart.

He skimmed his mouth, damp and hotter than imaginable, along her throat, his tongue swirling over her skin, leaving a trail of dew in its wake.
Then he was traveling upward again, latching his mouth onto hers, while his hand slid up and down her side, until eventually he closed his fingers over her breast.

A shudder rippled violently through him, just before he tore his mouth from hers, pressing her face to his chest, while his harsh breathing echoed around them.

Her own breathing was rapid and labored, and she thought she should object to the position of his hand, but it was as though her breast had swollen to accommodate its size, as though it was drawn to the miracle of his touch.

It was several moments before he finally released his hold and drew back. He studied her briefly before plowing his hands through his hair. “I got rather carried away.”

“Rather.”

“I shan’t apologize, though, as you did dare me.”

“Is that the reason you did it? Because I dared you?”

“I kissed you because I wanted to. Desperately.” Reaching out, he tucked stray strands of hair back into her bun. “I’ve mussed your hair.”

“Do you think our hosts will notice?”

He shrugged. “I suspect they except us to come back a bit untidy. We’ve been gone quite a while.” He took a step away from her. “We should return to dinner.”

“Yes, I suppose we should.”

He took a step away as though he was consid
ering returning to kiss her, rather than returning to dinner.

“I’m sorry I was so beside myself at the table,” she said.

A corner of his mouth quirked up in what she was coming to recognize as his kind, indulgent smile, when he sought to make her feel better. “I think we spend far too much time apologizing to each other.”

“Do you suppose it’s because we’re married and have never been before? Sometimes I’m not quite sure how to act, what to say. I’m not completely comfortable with being a wife.”

“Nor I with being a husband. I suggest we observe Weddington and Eleanor a bit more closely. They seem to have figured it all out.”

“I like them,” she told him.

“So do I. I rather suspect, though, that they’d like to finish with dinner.”

“Oh, yes.” She fairly jumped, startled by the reminder. “I’m sure they would. They’re probably beginning to worry about us.”

He opened the door, and she followed him into the hallway.

“I hope you remember how to find the dining room.”

“I could find it in the dark.”

He extended his arm, and she wrapped hers around it, halfway wishing he’d lead her to a bedchamber.

“You might fool them into believing that the duel was all a grand prank, but not me, Weddy. Never me. You left here with the intention of killing him.”

Weddington studied his wife, the uplift of her chin that indicated she’d stand for no nonsense. Dear God, but he loved her so, and he could only pray that his son would be fortunate enough to find a woman that he loved half as much.

“Yes, I had plans to kill him,” he reluctantly acknowledged, not overly proud of his initial intent.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because he’s not the man who hurt you.”

“So it wasn’t Robert?”

“No.”

“So it was John, as you suspected?”

“Yes.”

“Where was Robert when all this was going on?”

“It’s complicated, Eleanor, and I don’t wish to be in the middle of the explanation when they return. Suffice it to say that Robert has been…indisposed all these years. Unfortunately, he has yet to tell his wife the entire story.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You keep saying that—”

“Because it’s the truth.” He glanced toward the doorway, decided that Robert might be a while calming his wife, so he proceeded to tell
Eleanor his friend’s tale. She listened without uttering a single word, until he was finished.

“How awful for him. And for her. She’s not married to the man she thought she was going to marry.”

“No, she’s married to a better man.”

His wife pressed her lips into a tight line.

“You know it’s true, princess.”

“Regardless, he must tell her the truth of the situation.”

“He will.”

“When?”

“When the time is right.”

She scoffed. “You don’t think he did anything wrong in marrying her.”

“She was to marry the Duke of Killingsworth and that’s who she married.”

“But he’s a different man than she expected.”

“Their marriage is not our problem, Eleanor.”

“I like her, Weddy.”

“Then you should be glad that she’s married to Robert and not John.”

“Men. You always stick together.”

“Only because ladies always stick together.”

“We’re not at war.”

“Let it go, Eleanor. There are more important matters at stake.”

“Such as?”

He scowled at her. “His titles and estates.”

“So typical of a man to have his priorities
mixed up. If he feels that they are more important than she is then he doesn’t deserve her.”

“Eleanor, right now he needs our support and friendship more than anything. Not our censure.”

She puckered her very kissable mouth. “Very well. I shall let it go for now, but if he doesn’t tell her soon, I shall have to get after him.”

“I’ll give him fair warning.”

“Speaking of fair warning, I’m concerned about this storm, Weddy. It’s getting quite fierce. I thought to invite them to stay the night rather than travel through this muck, but I wasn’t certain how you’d feel about it.”

“I’d like it very much if you’d offer them our hospitality for the night, but do be sure to put them in the other wing. I have plans for you later.”

“Do you plan to indulge in a bit of wickedness?”

“Most assuredly.”

Her smile withered and her brow furrowed. “Do you think everything will turn out all right for Robert?”

“I’ll do what I can to help him, but I fear most of the responsibility for making things right will fall to him. Although there is something you can do to help.”

“Tell me what it is. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“If an opportunity presents itself, you might expound upon his virtues, coax her toward falling in love with the man she married.”

“I thought you said their marriage wasn’t our affair.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes, well, what you’re asking me to do seems very much to be contradicting that view.”

“It will make matters easier for him once his deception is discovered if her feelings are stronger for him than they are for his brother.”

“It seems strange to think of him as the
deceiver
when he is the rightful duke.”

“Unfortunately, he doesn’t see himself as the rightful husband.”

“He is the better husband.”

“Without a doubt. So you’ll do as I’ve asked?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Only if you promise to be very wicked when we go to bed.”

He leaned toward her. “I shall be as wicked as you like.”

“I do love you, Weddy.”

“No more than I love you.”

T
he storm grew in intensity. Torie could hear the wind howling outside. One particularly loud clap of thunder had sent Eleanor rushing upstairs to see to her son in the nursery, even though he had a governess tending to him. She’d claimed to hear the child cry out. Torie hadn’t heard anything except the wind and thunder.

She’d looked at Weddington, who’d simply shrugged, smiled, and said, “A mother’s ears are very different. I’ve learned not to question what she claims she’s heard.”

A few minutes later Eleanor returned with her son perched on her hip. The child was wearing a nightshirt, his little feet bare. He looked much
more vulnerable than he had that afternoon when he’d arrived on his father’s shoulders.

“Just as I thought, he was having a devil of a time. Storms frighten him just a bit,” Eleanor said.

“What was his governess doing if not comforting him?” Weddington asked.

“Oh, she was doing her job, rocking him, cooing to him, but sometimes a child needs his mother.”

Weddington leaned toward Torie where she sat on a couch in the drawing room. “And sometimes a mother simply needs her son. ’Tis Eleanor who is frightened of storms.”

“What are you whispering about, Weddy?”

He winked at Torie. “Only the truth, my love.”

Then Torie saw a side to her husband that she’d have never guessed existed. He rose from his chair near the fire and approached Eleanor, but talked to her son.

“Hello, Richard,” he said quietly. “I’m your uncle Robert. We’ve not met formally, but I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Are you afraid of storms?” Richard asked.

“Dreadfully afraid. Do you know what I think? I think we should have a dog in here to protect us.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“I do. In my pocket. But I have to warn you that when he comes out to play, other animals come out as well. Do you want to see?”

Richard bobbed his head excitedly. “I like dogs.”

“So do I. But my dog likes a lot of light. If your mother doesn’t mind, I’m going to move one of the lamps down to the floor.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Eleanor said. “I’m equally curious about this pet of yours.”

As was Torie. She watched in fascination as her husband moved a lamp to the floor, set it near a wall. He sat on the floor and patted the space beside him. “Sit here, Richard.”

The boy wiggled out of his mother’s arms and without fear walked over to Robert and plopped down beside him. He looked up at Robert with complete trust.

Robert dug around in the pockets of his jacket. “Ah, here he is.”

He brought out his tightly closed fists and jerked his head toward the side. “Watch the wall.”

Richard shifted his gaze over.

Robert unfurled his hands and placed them in front of the lamp in such a way that they cast the shadow of a dog’s head on the wall.

Laughing, Richard clapped. “It’s a dog! I see him! Do you, Mummy?”

“I most certainly do,” Eleanor said, as she sat on the couch next to Torie. “What a clever uncle you have.”

“He’s not really Richard’s uncle, is he?” Torie
whispered, wondering if perhaps she hadn’t fully understood the relationship between these people.

“Not by blood, but by his heart. He and my Weddy were once closer than brothers. I suspect they’re on their way to being so again.”

“Robert didn’t tell me what caused the rift between him and your husband.”

“Just a bit of nastiness that’s behind us now. No point in dwelling on it.”

She couldn’t imagine her husband being responsible for any sort of nastiness, but based on the anger with which Weddington had greeted him, she had to assume that the fault for their discord rested with him. It nagged at her, wondering what it might entail, but she forced it from her mind, concentrating instead on her husband and his young audience.

“Remember, I told you,” Robert said, “that when my dog comes out to play, other creatures come out as well. I think I hear them coming now.”

“Where?” Richard cried out, looking around.

“Here,” Richard said, manipulating his hands. “Do you know what this is?”

“A tortoise.”

“Do you know the story of the tortoise and the—”

He shifted his hands.

“Bunny rabbit!” Richard cried.

“The tortoise and the bunny rabbit. Close enough.”

“What else?” the boy asked, getting up on his knees and bouncing up and down.

“Well, let’s see. Something exotic, I think.” He moved his hands…

“An elephant!”

“You are smart.”

Torie sat there, watching her husband manipulate his hands, creating the shadows of one creature after another: a goose, a deer, a duck, a pig…on and on he went, his repertoire of hand shadows seemingly endless. Torie had never seen him take such delight in anything, and she was almost jealous of the child who commanded his attention.

“How did you learn to do all that?” she finally asked.

Without taking his eyes from the shadows, he said, “I once found myself with a bit of time on my hands, so to speak.”

“Some of these are remarkable,” she said.

A snail, a horse, two birds.

“I had
quite
a bit of time to practice.”

“When was this?” she asked.

“Oh, here and there.”

“Teach me!” Richard suddenly piped up.

“With pleasure.” He pulled the boy onto his lap, wrapped his arms around him so he could reach the boy’s hands.

The sight of Robert’s large hands patiently molding the tiny hands of the child tugged at something deep within Torie. Her heart, she thought.
And that tug caused tears to burn the backs of her eyes. He might one day give this sort of attention to their children. She’d given a good deal of thought to what he might be like as a husband, but she’d given no consideration to what he might be like as a father. Watching him, she realized that he would be quite remarkable, and she found herself hoping that they wouldn’t go too terribly long without being blessed with children.

Eleanor leaned toward her. “I daresay this storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon. I hope you’ll consider staying the night. You’d have an entire wing to yourself, and as Robert is already wearing some of my Weddy’s clothes, we can find others for him tomorrow. As for your clothing needs, you and I are not so far off in size.”

“We don’t want to impose.”

“It will be more of an imposition if we have to go out in the storm and get your coach unstuck.”

“If you’re certain.”

“I’m most certain. We’re so glad to have Robert back in our lives. We’ve missed him.”

It was nearly an hour later before Richard, still nestled within Robert’s lap yawned and said, “One more.”

Torie had lost count of the “one mores” that the child had asked for. She wondered if Robert regretted showing him the first animal that had led to the second and so on.

She watched as Robert twisted around, leaned his back against the wall, the curled child cradled
in his arms, while he looked down on him with such tenderness. He obviously adored this boy he’d only just met.

“I daresay I should take him back to bed,” Eleanor said, rising to her feet. She crossed over to Robert and bent down to retrieve her son.

“He’s a fine lad,” Robert said, and she heard something in his voice. Sadness, perhaps loss. Longing.

“We think so,” Eleanor said.

“I’ll help you put him to bed,” Weddington said, coming to his feet.

As the couple left the room, Torie’s husband sat there, one leg raised, his wrist resting on his knee, his gaze on the window where the draperies were still pulled aside so they could watch the show put on by the magnificent storm.

Was that a tear in his eye?

With a soft clearing of his throat, he closed his eyes and pressed his finger and thumb on either side of the bridge of his nose, rubbing his nose, his eyes.

“A headache?” she asked.

He lowered his hand and gave her a poignant smile. “No, just speculating.”

“On what?”

“On what I’d be willing to do to protect my children from harm.”

“And what would that be?”

“Anything and everything.”

“I’ve never understood why men believe women are too delicate to puff on cigars, drink whiskey, and smack small balls around,” Eleanor whispered to Torie.

They were sitting in a corner of the billiard room, watching as the men puffed, drank, and smacked. Apparently the men needed quiet to play their game, although their own talking and laughter didn’t seem to disturb them. The ladies had been allowed into what Weddington referred to as a man’s dominion because Eleanor had insisted. Torie couldn’t help but wonder if a time would come when Robert would give as much deference to her wishes.

“How did you meet Robert?” Eleanor asked, completely changing the subject.

“It was at the first ball of last Season. He was the first duke to ask me to dance. I was quite smitten.”

“Because of his title?”

Torie heard censure in Eleanor’s voice, and she could hardly blame her. The woman was so obviously in love with her husband, she probably expected every woman to look beyond a man’s title.

“Only at first,” Torie admitted. “But he was so charming and attentive that he fairly swept me off my feet.”

“And if he wasn’t a duke?”

“I’d still care for him.”

“
Care?
”

Eleanor had jumped on the word like a cat to a fly.

“Did you love Weddington before you married him?” Torie asked instead of addressing Eleanor’s question.

“Of course.”

“I don’t know how proper courtship allows room for anyone to fall in love.”

“I suppose I must confess that mine was quite improper. So you only care for Robert?”

Torie felt the heat rise in her face. She wasn’t certain that she should tell this woman what she had yet to tell her husband. “I feel as though it’s only since we married that I’ve had an opportunity to truly come to know him.”

“And you’ve grown rather fond of him,” Eleanor finished for her.

Torie nodded, Eleanor smiled. “I’m glad your affection has deepened since you married him.”

“Why?”

“Because a man after marriage is often very different from a man who is courting. The reality of that difference can be very disappointing. I know any number of ladies who wished the beaus had not turned into husbands.”

Torie smiled deeply. “It was just the opposite with Robert. I much prefer the man as a husband.”

“And the way he looks at you,” Eleanor whispered, “it’s rather obvious that he absolutely adores you.”

Torie shifted her gaze over to the men. The friendship between them was so evident.

While she considered Weddington handsome,
she couldn’t deny that she found her husband to be more so. He’d removed his jacket, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves as though he needed to get serious about this game. She liked to watch the way he concentrated on the ball right before he smacked it, the way he smiled with satisfaction when it landed in a hole, the way he groaned and grimaced with good-natured disappointment when he missed…

He was quite simply…wonderful.

“I find fierce storms lend themselves so well to romance,” Eleanor said softly.

Stunned by the statement, Torie shifted her attention back to Eleanor. “Your husband told me that you’re terrified of storms.”

Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “I am a bit. But my wariness serves a purpose. Men are quite ignorant when it comes to romance. I’m not certain why, but it takes a bit of training to bring them around…like a well-heeled dog.”

Torie widened her eyes. “Are you comparing your husband to a pet?”

“Of course not. I’m simply saying that sometimes men must be guided toward romance so that they believe it was all their idea. I’ve found storms to be the best time for simply holding each other.”

“Simply holding each other?”

Eleanor nodded enthusiastically. “People discount the importance of the small things. Simply being held while a storm rages. Being kissed silly.
Talking in the darkness about dreams and plans. And snuggling to our heart’s content. Men are really rather stupid creatures when it comes to women. It is left to us to educate them that courtship doesn’t end when vows are exchanged.

“Just like now. Men think they must sneak away to enjoy their cigars and whiskey, that it offends our sensibilities. But I take much pleasure in watching my Weddy enjoying his cigar and drink. And I daresay on occasion I’ve even shared the nasty things with him.”

“You haven’t!”

“I have. Life is to be experienced, I say. And I want to experience it with Weddy.”

“You’re very lucky, Eleanor.”

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe we make our own happiness. Right this moment, I could be off in another part of the house. Alone. But I choose not to be. I choose to be where he is. And the wonderful thing about it, Torie, is that there are times when he chooses to be where I am. And that’s the reason I love being married to him, and why I love him.”

Torie realized that the balls were no longer being smacked around.

“You’re out of practice,” Weddington said as he and Robert ambled over.

“Decidedly so,” Robert responded.

“Did you win, Weddy?” Eleanor asked.

“Of course, princess.”

Robert looked at Torie, shrugged, and grinned
as though he thought she might be ashamed by his lack of success. She felt a need to comfort him. “It’s no surprise that you won, Weddington, since it’s your table in your house. You know doubt practice all the time.”

“Whenever possible.”

“What shall we do now?” Eleanor asked. “A game of charades?”

“I was thinking we could go to the bathhouse,” Weddington said.

“I think not.”

“The bathhouse?” Torie asked.

“It’s a horrendous place. A huge vat of freezing water,” Eleanor said.

“It’s healthy to take a dip into it,” Weddington said. “My ancestors have done it for generations. Besides, it’s a ritual for Robert and me. We always do it at least once while he’s visiting.”

“But tonight, Weddy? It’s raining.”

“So? We’ll get wet anyway.”

“Well, then, you can get wet without us.”