A Matter of Temptation (20 page)

T
he mornings that followed were filled with Robert secluding himself in the library or the study while Torie saw to the management of the house. The afternoons were filled with walks and rides, tours of the countryside, long heated kisses beneath the boughs of trees where they took a rest, picnics, and walks along the river.

The evenings consisted of a lovely dinner, reading afterward, her reading to him, because he so loved the sound of her voice. She’d never known any man to be so enthralled with a woman’s talking, as though he could never get enough.

The nights…they never seemed long enough. They made love, and slept, awoke to make love again. With each time that they came together,
the fluidity of their lovemaking increased.

Torie came to know his body almost as well as she knew her own. And she knew beyond any doubt that he knew hers equally well. He knew how to touch her to create the wonderful sensations that spiraled through her. When to pull back and drive her crazy, when to push forward and grant her release.

He was quite simply remarkable.

At the sound of gentle knock on the door, Torie stopped writing, glanced over her shoulder, and bid entry. The butler opened the door and stepped into the room.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace, but the duke wishes a moment of your time in the library.”

“He’s returned already? I wasn’t expecting him until nightfall.” She rose to her feet, wondering if he finished with his business at the village more quickly because he didn’t like being away from her any more than she liked his being away. “Tell him that I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After he closed the door, Torie walked to the dresser, gazed in the mirror, and assessed her appearance. As he’d returned early, she had little
doubt that there was no need for her to take much time in preparing herself. She suspected he’d soon have her hair mussed and her gown pooled on the floor.

Strange that he’d asked to see her in the library, rather than coming straight here to spend time with her. She hoped all was well. A sudden sense of foreboding traveled through her, and she feared that perhaps something was amiss.

She hurried into the hallway and down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, she headed toward the library.

When the footman opened the door for her, she waltzed into the room and saw her husband standing at the window, staring out at the gardens. She didn’t recognize his clothing. It wasn’t what he’d been wearing that morning when he’d left. But she’d recognize him anywhere, the way he stood, the tilt of his head, the shape of his back.

She was surprised that he didn’t turn to face her, that he didn’t acknowledge her arrival.

“Whitney said you wished to see me.”

Still he didn’t turn. Fighting back her trepidation that something was wrong, she crossed the room, walking over thick rugs. Slipping her arms around his waist, she pressed her cheek to his back. “I missed you desperately.”

“Did you?” he murmured.

“How could you possibly doubt it? Didn’t you miss me?”

“More than you can possibly understand.”

He took hold of her hands, moving them away so he could face her. She took a step back, not certain why, only knowing that she felt an overwhelming urge to do so. Something was different. Something she couldn’t identify or explain. His eyes, she thought. There was something different in his eyes, something different in the way he looked at her. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickled.

She took another step back. “You’re not my husband.”

“Unfortunately, no, I’m not.”

She tried to smile, to laugh, to understand. “Oh, you were playing a prank, telling Whitney the duke was here, wishing to see me, but you’re John. You’ve come to surprise Robert. He’ll be so pleased. He was terribly disappointed that you weren’t able to make it over for our wedding. Still, I do wish you’d told us you were coming.”

He scrutinized her as though she was the village idiot, rambling along, making no sense, and she realized that she was indeed rambling. She couldn’t explain his unexpected appearance or his odd behavior. But he certainly wasn’t acting like the prodigal brother returned.

“I just realized why you’re looking at me so oddly. You have no idea who I am. I’m Torie. Your brother’s wife.”

“I know who you are.”

“John, please allow me to—”

“I’m not John.”

“Are you a cousin then? What a striking resemblance—”

“Torie, my sweet, I’m not John, nor am I a cousin.”

His voice carried a hint of warning, like a dog that growls if one gets too near its bone. She found herself taking another step back. “Then who are you?”

“I’m Robert Hawthorne, the Duke of Killingsworth.”

Torie stood there, staring at the man, trying to make sense of his words. She shook her head, unable to decipher their connotation, even though she was well aware of what the words meant. They made no sense. He made no sense.

She shook her head. “I know Robert. He…” He had kinder eyes, a gentleness, a vulnerability. His soul possessed traits that this man’s didn’t. Just from gazing at him, she recognized that he was at once familiar and yet a stranger. She shook her head more vigorously. “You, sir, are not Robert Hawthorne. You’re not my husband.”

“No, I’m not your husband. He stole that honor from me, just as he has sought to steal everything else.” He took a step toward her. “Look closely, Torie. Look into my eyes. You’ve looked into them before. For six months while we planned our wedding, for six months before that while I courted you—”

“No.” She took another step back, wanted to
run screaming down the hallways. “I don’t know you, sir. I married the man into whose eyes I gazed—”

“No, you did not!” Reaching out, he grabbed her arms and shook her, his face contorting in agony. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You didn’t marry Robert. You married John!”

T
wisting and wrenching herself free of his grasp, Torie backed away, the horror of his words settling in the pit of her stomach.

“That can’t be. I…I…” She pressed a hand to her mouth. In the beginning, hadn’t she thought countless times that it was as though she was married to a stranger? Hadn’t she wondered at his reticence?

Yet she’d fallen in love with the man she married. She’d discovered a gentleness, an extreme kindness. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed every aspect of being with him.

“You know I speak true, Torie. I can see it in your eyes.”

She thought what he saw in her eyes were tears,
because her eyes and throat burned. She felt the moisture roll over onto her cheeks. He was familiar, a familiarity that reached far beyond the shape of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the blue of his eyes. She had spent time in this man’s company. Why did she recognize the truth of it now and not when she’d first seen him standing before the window?

“It’s possible,” she rasped. “I recognize you, not as a stranger, but as someone I’ve known.”

“Someone with whom you’ve danced while you wore a white gown decorated with pink roses and lace?”

Her heart thudded at the reminder of what she’d been wearing the night she first met the Duke of Killingsworth.

“Someone who fed you strawberries dipped in sugar while you picnicked by the Thames?”

Her chest tightened to the point that she could barely breathe.

“Someone who asked you to honor him by becoming the Duchess of Killingsworth?”

She released a strangled cry. Oh, dear Lord, he could only know those things if he was the one who’d experienced them. Her trembling legs weakened, and she found herself dropping into a nearby chair.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, hating the doubts and fears she heard reflected in her voice.

“There’s no reason that you should.” His tone
was kind. “For as long as I can remember, John has coveted what was mine by right. As the firstborn son, I stood to inherit everything. It is English law, entailment—”

“I am exceedingly familiar with English law,” she snapped, losing patience, desperate for him to get to the crux of the matter. She held out slim hope that perhaps it was all a horrible joke. Part of her felt violated, and yet a larger part of her simply wanted to see her husband, to have him hold her, to have him tell her that everything would be all right.

Only it wasn’t her husband standing before her now. It was someone else, from another lifetime.

He gave her a wry smile. “Of course you are. But as my brother wanted my titles, my estates, it stands to reason that he would also want to possess my lady.”

Only he hadn’t. Not really. He’d tried to avoid her. She was the one who’d traipsed after him like a puppy in need of comfort, until he’d finally given in.

“
You tempt me beyond all endurance,” he’d whispered
.

“But he didn’t even know me,” she reminded him. “He was in Virginia—”

“No. His being in Virginia was a carefully crafted lie, to protect the family.”

“But his letters—”

“I wrote them myself.”

“Why?”

He pulled a chair forward so that he could sit facing her. So close that she was hemmed in, imprisoned. Her heart beat erratically, her palms grew damp. She felt like a cornered animal, not at all certain that escape was possible.

“Where is”—she didn’t know what to call him—“my husband?” she dared to ask.

“Out seeing to the affairs of the estate, I imagine.”

“And when he returns?”

“You and I must decide on a plan of action.”

She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. “I don’t understand how any of this has come about.”

“I’m trying to explain as best as I can.” He took hold of her wrists and brought her hands down to her lap. “As incredible as it seems, my father recognized that John couldn’t be trusted to honor my place above his. On the night that we turned eighteen, he had John carted away to Pentonville—”

“Pentonville? It’s a prison.”

“Yes. The alternative was Bedlam. My father thought that Pentonville, being a modern facility, was a kinder choice.”

“But it is a place for criminals. Your brother committed no crime.”

“But he would have. My father was sure of it. So he paid a warder handsomely to keep my brother imprisoned within the walls of Pentonville.”

“And you knew of this injustice?”

“Yes.”

She studied her hands, then lifted her gaze to his. “Is that the reason that you stopped to look at it on occasion?”

“Yes. I hated the thought of my brother being incarcerated there. I was trying to determine if it would be safe to have him released. As it turns out, his freedom meant my hell.” He came up out of the chair with such force that Torie reeled back against her chair, fearful that he might strike her.

He swung around and stood behind the chair, his hands gripping its back until his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched as he continued. “My brother escaped. His timing couldn’t have been worse: the night before you and I were to wed. He came to the house in London and had me carted off to Pentonville in his stead.” He squinted at the ceiling as though the memories resided there. “I was placed in solitary confinement, so it was some time before I was able to talk with the warder and convince him that a mistake had been made. I was released quietly three days ago.”

He turned his attention back to her. “Then my real hell began. I made discreet inquiries and learned that my brother had gone through with the ceremony. That John was masquerading as Robert, and had taken not only my titles and my estates, but my lady as well. And judging by your
earlier reaction, I assume that he has also taken your heart.”

As well as her body and her soul.

At that moment, he looked as though he hated her down to the tips of her toes. She dropped her gaze back to her hands, finding his scrutiny difficult to bear, as though he could see everything that his brother had done with her, every kiss, every touch…

“Your story is incredible.”

“It’s not a story, but the truth.”

She dared to lift her gaze back to him. “Your father’s solution to what he perceived as a problem seems cruel.” She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t seem cruel. It was cruel. There had to be another way to protect what you claim is yours.”

“What I claim? It is mine, Torie. It was to be yours as well. Has my brother bedded you?”

She felt the heat rush to her face.

“Has he bedded you?”

She nodded. He spun around, giving her his back.

“I could kill him for that alone,” he muttered.

“No.” She rose to her feet. “He doesn’t deserve to die. If what you say is true—”

He jerked around. “You doubt me?”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Believe this. Not a single night went by when
I didn’t think of you. Not a single moment passed when I didn’t worry over what might become of you. Not a single second ticked by that I didn’t see your face, hear your laughter, remember your smile.”

It was insanity, and she was beginning to doubt her own, his, and her husband’s. “But how could I not know the difference? Even if you looked the same—”

“Do you still doubt that I am the man who courted you?”

She felt the tears stinging her eyes, burning her throat. She thought she thought she might be ill. In the beginning she’d felt as though she’d wed a stranger. In fact, she had.

The chair toppled to the floor as he shoved it aside, knelt before her, and took her hands.

“Who am I, Torie?”

Her mouth was too dry to speak, her throat knotted with emotion.

“Am I the man who courted you?”

She studied his face, his eyes…She nodded.

“Am I the Duke of Killingsworth?”

Was he? She didn’t know. She only knew he wasn’t the man she married.

“I need to see”—she wanted to say Robert, but what if she was this very second staring into Robert’s eyes—“my husband.”

“Do you believe that I am the Duke of Killingsworth? That I am Robert?” he insisted.

“Why would he lie to me?” she asked, instead of answering his question.

“I told you. He wanted what I possessed.”

“If what you say is true…” Tears blurred her vision, rolled onto her cheeks.

“It’s true, Torie. You must believe me. Why would I create such an elaborate story?”

“What is it that you expect of me?”

He squeezed her hands. “You must understand that in all likelihood, even when faced with the truth, he will still claim to be Robert. I fear he
believes
he is Robert. Worse than that, however, I fear he is insane. The night he escaped—”

Because he was holding her hand, she felt the tremor ripple through him.

“What? What happened the night he escaped?”

“He bound and gagged me.”

She could see the horror of what he’d endured reflected in his eyes.

“He struck me to render me unconscious. When I awoke, I was alone. Completely alone in a dark place.”

She was still having a difficult time believing, and yet she couldn’t deny the man she’d married wasn’t the man she’d agreed to marry. She could see it so clearly now. Her husband’s initial hesitations…

“Are you going to send him back to Pentonville?”

“No. I never agreed with Father’s solution to
the problem. I was trying to honor his wishes, but I can see now that he treated my brother most unfairly. Still, I cannot risk his trying to again take from me what is mine.”

She could do little more than nod her understanding of the situation. “What would you have me do?”

“I want to meet with him, to speak with him—”

“He should be returning home any moment.”

“Not here. I want to meet with him away from the house where the servants can’t hear. I have no doubt there will be a good deal of shouting, until we can sort the matter out. He won’t like hearing what I have to say, but if he will only acknowledge that he is John, then perhaps there is hope for us all, for a way out of this mess.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just meet with him here.”

“Because he is likely to get violent.”

“He doesn’t strike me as a man of violence.”

“Does he strike you as a man who is living another’s life?”

“No.”

“There are numerous things about my brother that you don’t know. But remember, Torie, by taking you as his wife, he betrayed you far worse than he did me.”

Robert so enjoyed the twilight strolls he took with Torie. It had become their habit before din
ner to spend this time together, allowing the burdens of the day to fall away. This evening she’d met him at the stables as soon as he’d returned home, and while she’d seemed most anxious for their walk in the beginning, now she seemed particularly solemn, unlike her usually pert self.

He knew he couldn’t continue the deception any longer. He had to tell her the truth. And once he told her…he had to maintain faith that her feelings toward him wouldn’t change.

He’d not planned to fall in love with her. And yet he had. There was nothing about her that he didn’t treasure. Nothing he didn’t adore.

He’d spent the afternoon riding aimlessly around the countryside, trying to determine how best to break the news to her. When the best time would be. Before he made love to her again? For surely he would. He had no willpower where she was concerned. Perhaps he should tell her afterward, when she lay lethargically in his arms, the glow of her release highlighting her skin.

He should tell her over dinner—so she could ban him from her bed if she chose.

Or in the morning, so he’d have one more night with her in his arms.

And he’d use the same excuses tomorrow and the day after that. It was the very reason that he was now in this unconscionable predicament. Because he’d not wanted to hurt her, and in the end, he feared he was going to do exactly that.

“Is everything all right, Torie?” he finally asked.

She glanced up at him, giving him the smile, the dimple he adored. “Of course. I’m simply distracted.”

“Isn’t that one of my habits with which you continually find fault? My drifting off into my thoughts until I’m no longer here.”

She nodded, and he thought he saw tears spring into her eyes before she averted her gaze.

“Torie?”

“I’m fine. I was wondering when you thought we might return to London.”

He did need to return to London. He had to determine how best to handle the situation involving John, which was the very reason that he could no longer put off telling Torie.

He’d considered that perhaps there was a way that he could manage to release John without anyone being the wiser, but the problem was how to ensure that John didn’t cause any more mischief. Robert would put Torie at risk if he didn’t tell her the truth, and if John ever came to visit, she might very well recognize him as the man who had proposed to her.

He’d never meant for it to come to this. He’d simply wanted to regain what was his by right.

They were a good distance from the house now, walking through the area of the gardens where the hedges were high and the foliage dense.

“I’ve been giving a good deal of thought to that, actually. I thought perhaps—”

He heard a rustling of plants. Even as he turned, Torie scampered away. The two men who grabbed him were huge, brawny, and even as he struggled against them, he knew he had little hope of escape. One delivered a forceful punch to his gut, and he dropped to the ground as the air rushed out of him. His arms were wrenched back—

“Don’t hurt him!” Torie shouted.

—a rope bit into his wrists. Fighting to draw—

“Get him on his feet.”

—in a breath, he peered up at the sound of a voice he recognized. He was jerked upward and fought to stay on his feet when his legs desperately wanted to crumple beneath him, not so much because of the pain still radiating just below his ribs, but that centering where his heart beat.

Torie stood there, not surprised at all to see the appearance of a man who looked exactly like her husband. And he realized that she’d known John would be waiting there, John and his henchman.