Lord of Temptation (22 page)

Damnation. A possessive fury he’d never known shot through him.

“Lord Chetwyn has an interest in her.” It hadn’t helped matters that he’d seen her in the park with the blasted lord that very afternoon. She’d looked happy, had been smiling up at him. She’d laughed. Her arm had been wrapped around his as though she’d turned into a clinging vine. And damn them both to hell, they looked right together. Proper. Chetwyn was everything he wasn’t. People approached them, spoke with them. They didn’t stand warily back wondering what to expect.

“And you want to marry her?”

“Good God, no.” He couldn’t contain his alarm at the notion. How the hell did his brother come to that conclusion from this bit of conversation? “Marriage is not for me.”

“You just want to bed her then.”

There was no “just” when it came to bedding Anne. Her in his bed brought him more pleasure, more . . . joy than he’d ever known.

“I don’t want Chetwyn sniffing about her.” Which wasn’t fair to her if she liked the fellow, but dammit all, life wasn’t fair.

“Suppose you could abduct Chetwyn, drop him into the ocean somewhere.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it. But someone would take his place in her affections quickly enough. She’s a beautiful woman. Charming. Feisty. She can hold her own in an argument, doesn’t back down easily. When her temper flares, my God, she’s something to behold.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“What? No, absolutely not. She’s simply interesting and I appreciate interesting things.” Love certainly wasn’t an emotion with which he was familiar or had any desire with which to become familiar. It weakened a man. He’d loved his mother and she’d died in childbirth. He’d loved his father and he’d died. He’d loved his uncle and the blighter had led them to the tower. No, love wasn’t for him.

Rafe studied his refilled glass of whiskey. Tristan had a difficult time believing that the self-assured man sitting before him was the sniveling brat he’d known as a child. As the youngest, he’d been pampered and spoiled. But there was no softness in him now.
What paths did you traverse, Brother?

If he weren’t more interested in solving the dilemma he faced with Anne, he might work at getting Rafe drunk and questioning him about the past. Instead he watched the wheels turn in his brother’s eyes.

Finally, Rafe said quietly, “The most powerful weapon among the aristocracy is gossip.”

Tristan was well aware of that. It had forced Sebastian to marry Mary. “As I mentioned, I don’t wish to marry her.”

“You don’t have to, but I thought you were striving to ensure that Chetwyn—or any other lord for that matter—didn’t.”

Tristan cared for her too much to hurt her in that way: to bring her public scorn and not marry her. But then things had turned out well enough for Sebastian and Mary. Anne would always be here waiting for him. He might actually begin to look forward to returning to England.

The suggestion began to have merit. Tristan wanted her. He never denied himself anything he wanted. He knew she desired him. It would be unfair for her to marry Chetwyn when she yearned for another. He’d be doing Chetwyn a favor.

Her as well, truth be told. She just needed to realize it.

Chapter 22

I
n the end, Chetwyn delivered the invitation to Keswick himself. A bit of rebelliousness on his part, Anne supposed, or perhaps he wanted her to view him as a man’s man. “Ladies tend to prefer a gentleman with a backbone,” he’d joked during one of their outings to the park.

So she determined he was striving to impress her, to press his suit, to stake his claim.

“You and Chetwyn are all the talk,” Sarah said now as they stood off to the side in the ballroom at Chetwyn’s residence. “I rather like him.”

“So does my family.”

Her father and brothers couldn’t have been happier with all the attention Chetwyn was lavishing on her. They sang his praises to her whenever they crossed her path in the hallways of their residence. It was very much like living in an opera. Although she could hardly fault them.

He was akin to them. He had attended the same schools, belonged to the same clubs, shared the same interests. He didn’t jump into shark-infested waters to save a child from gaping maws.

He had traveled to Europe and Egypt. He wanted to journey to America someday, perhaps after he was married. Of late he spoke often of a future that included a lady, and she knew that in his mind, that lady was she. She tried to envision a future with Chetwyn. But she seemed unable to see anything beyond parks, balls, and theater.

She wanted to gaze into his eyes and long for his kiss. She wanted to grow warm with the possibility of him touching her.

“Do you like him?” Sarah asked.

“He’s pleasant, yes. More than pleasant, really. He makes me smile.”

“But does he make you laugh?”

She turned to her dear friend. “What sort of question is that?”

“An odd one, I’m sure, but I’ve discovered that for true happiness one must laugh. Fayrehaven makes me laugh on occasion.”

“I’m certain I’ve laughed with Chetwyn.” Although she couldn’t remember a moment when she had. Not truly. A small laugh here and there she supposed. Was she being unfair to him to want for more?

“What about Lord Tristan? Have you seen him of late?”

“No. I told him that we couldn’t continue on as we’d been. I think he took my words to heart.” More than she’d wished for, truth be told. She hadn’t meant that she never wanted to set eyes on him again. She just wouldn’t serve as a convenient mistress or lover.

“And how was that?” Sarah asked.

“Pardon?”

“How had you been?”

“Oh, you know, passing here and there, knowing all along there would be nothing permanent. A good strong wind would have him back on the sea.”

“Do you miss him?”

Terribly, but she fought not to dwell on it because she would not sink into despair. This Season was about pleasing her father and finding a husband. “I hardly give him any thought.”

“Liar. I’m married and I give him thought. He’s a remarkable specimen.”

“Sarah, you’re not helping matters.”

“Apologies. I daresay, it’s wonderful what Chetwyn and his mother are doing for the soldiers.”

A change in topic, thank God.

“Yes, they’re exceedingly generous.” She suspected this would be but the beginning of Chetwyn’s efforts. He had a kindness in him that wanted to protect and shelter. He would make an excellent husband. If he were hers, she would strive to be an exceptional wife. But then she wondered if she should have to strive. Shouldn’t it come naturally?

The orchestra struck a chord, the room quieted, and with her son’s assistance, Lady Chetwyn stepped onto a dais. Her hair had gone completely white since her younger son’s passing. A bit of murmuring began and she clapped her hands. When silence again reigned, she said, “As you all know, caring for our soldiers is an endeavor that is near and dear to my heart. Funds are needed to ensure that those who are not yet able to work are cared for. We owe them housing, food, and warmth. We owe them our undying gratitude for going where we did not wish to tread. I hope you will not find offense in how we wish to begin this ball. Consider that it is done with the best of intentions. Unmarried ladies, please come forward.”

“That’s you,” Sarah said, nudging Anne’s shoulder with her fan.

“Do you know what this is about?” she asked.

“No. I would think you would, though. You’re the one who’s been keeping time with Chetwyn.”

“He’s been quite secretive about the plans.” He caught her attention then, winked at her, and jerked his head toward the dais. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she wasn’t going to like this.

“There you go. Off with you now,” Sarah insisted.

Anne meandered over to where the other ladies were standing about, smiling, and giggling.

“Do you know what they have planned?” one of the ladies whispered.

Anne shook her head.

“I’ve heard it’s going to be scandalous,” someone else said sotto voce.

Anne had never associated the word scandal with Chetwyn.

“The first dance with each lady will go to the highest bidder,” the marchioness announced.

A couple of ladies squealed. Anne wished she’d stayed with Sarah until she saw that Chetwyn seemed rather pleased with himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, his gaze never straying from her, his mouth tilted upward in a gentle smile. She was beginning to suspect that this little spectacle was as much about him claiming her as it was about raising the needed funds for a soldiers’ home. She had expected a moment like this to come. She simply hadn’t anticipated that it would be so public, but she was determined to be a good sport about it.

As each of the ladies took the dais, there was an abundance of blushing and a few bids, as though people weren’t quite comfortable with the notion. Lady Teresa had received the highest bid so far: twenty-five pounds.

Anne’s was the fourth name that Lady Chetwyn called out. As heat warmed her face, she stepped onto the dais and tried not to feel uneasy with all the attention focused on her. Her father, of course, wasn’t here tonight, but she caught sight of Jameson grinning and nudging Chetwyn, encouraging him no doubt. It was suddenly obvious how the winds were blowing. She would be betrothed by the end of the Season, married by the end of the year. She would never be lonely again. It was what she wanted.

“Lady Anne Hayworth, gentlemen. What shall you bid to be the first to waltz with this lovely lady this evening?” As she spoke, she smiled at her son.

Anne saw him raise two fingers. “Fifty pounds.”

A few gasps resounded. His mother’s smile widened, not so much because of the astonishing amount but because she hoped it would get the other gents into the spirit of things. Or perhaps it was because her son was making it clear that he valued Lady Anne Hayworth. Considering the amounts that had gone before, no one was going to challenge—

“One hundred.”

Anne felt her breath leaving her body as she recognized the voice. What was he doing here? Surely Chetwyn had not invited him, but the crowd parted to reveal Tristan leaning negligently against a white marbled column. Although he was dressed as a gentleman, he seemed more roguish tonight, more dangerous. If at all possible he’d grown more devilishly handsome in the two weeks since she’d seen him. She’d begun to think he’d left England, and she’d been determined not to mourn his leaving but to carry on. But here he was.

Anne’s mouth was so dry that it was as though she’d swallowed sawdust.

“One fifty,” Chetwyn challenged.

“Two hundred.”

Gasps floated through the room. Someone clapped. Jameson looked on the verge of committing murder. Chetwyn’s jaw tightened. “Two hundred and fifty.”

She looked at Tristan and tried to convey with pleading eyes,
Please don’t bid any more. Let Chetwyn have this moment.
But either he couldn’t read or he didn’t care.

“Five.”

“Two hundred and sixty,” Chetwyn announced.

“My apologies, my lord, for not being clearer,” Tristan said, his voice booming to the far corners. Anne suspected it was communicating through storms that gave him such a command of the room. “I wasn’t bidding two hundred and fifty-five, but rather five hundred.”

Let it stop here, dear God, let it stop here.
She could see Chetwyn hesitate and then he seemed to straighten himself up. “Six hundred.”

“One thousand,” Tristan responded with no hesitation. He was not a man accustomed to losing, and she knew he had no intention of losing here.

Chetwyn acknowledged the bid with a slight nod as he stepped back. Anne’s heart went out to him. She wanted to leap from the dais, rush over to him, and assure him that everything was all right. She was his. But duty forced her to stand and bear the humiliation of having all eyes on her filled with speculation. First the garden party, and now this. Her reputation was likely to be torn to tatters.

“Well, sir,” Lady Chetwyn said, her smile sickly, “you certainly got into the spirit of things and your generosity is much appreciated. Next, we have Lady Hermione.”

If looks could kill, the glare Lady Hermione bestowed upon Anne as they passed each other would have surely seen her on her way to the grave.

In long strides Tristan ate up the distance separating them and offered Anne his hand as she stepped off the dais. Her embarrassment for Chetwyn had her ignoring it. She walked to an empty spot near the wall to await the end of the bidding and the beginning of the music. Tristan took up his place beside her.

“You purposely sought to humiliate him,” she said, her voice low and seething.

“I promise you that was not my intention. I merely wanted to dance with you.”

“A thousand pounds?”

“For a good cause. Surely you can’t fault me for that.”

Perhaps not. If she thought his intentions were honorable, rather than simply a means to gain something that he wanted. If only Chetwyn hadn’t looked so disappointed, so defeated.

“You can’t always have what you want, especially when it hurts others,” she admonished.

“Trust me, Princess, I spent a good deal of my life not having what I wanted. If I’m in a position to take, I take. Besides it’s only a dance. He can have the next and it won’t cost him a ha’penny.”

She watched as Jameson escorted Lady Hermione off the dais. So her brother had bid on her. She wondered for what amount. Certainly not the exorbitant amount of a thousand pounds. “I thought you understood that my purpose in this Season was to secure a husband.”

“Which is the reason that I’ve stayed away, but I missed you, dammit.”

She could have sworn she heard longing in his voice, longing that would mirror hers if she said the same words. She had missed him as well. Dreadfully. But admitting it would serve no purpose except to prolong an inevitable separation. “I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

“My brother and his wife were. I tagged along. Are there rules that say I shouldn’t have?”

Chetwyn was no doubt wishing at this moment that he had been precise with his invitation. She was grateful that in the end he had delivered it. Otherwise he might be under the impression that she had invited Tristan.

“I thought perhaps you’d left England.”

“Not yet.” He grinned. “Obviously.”

“What are you doing here, Tristan?”

“I told you. I missed you. I wanted to dance with you.”

“Did you have to draw so much attention?”

“I’ll leave if it’s what you want, and he can have the damned dance.”

“The home can use the thousand pounds.”

“I’ll still pay it. I honor my debts. Tell me to go and I will.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep cleansing breath. Then she opened them to find him watching her. His gaze dropped to her lips before lifting back to her eyes. She saw the yearning there and it matched a similar longing in her. Whatever was wrong with her? “I suppose I should be flattered that you would pay so much for a single waltz with me.”

“Most women would be, I should think. But then I learned very quickly that you are not most women.”

“People are watching us.”

“Perhaps because the music is starting.” He extended his arm. “Do I escort you onto the dance floor or to Chetwyn?”

“To Chetwyn.”

She saw the flash of irritation before he wiped all emotion from his face. “As you wish.”

She placed her hand on his arm and he turned away from the dance area to the corner where Chetwyn was talking with his mother. He was going to do it. Deliver her to another man.

“The dance floor, damn you,” she whispered.

When they were moving among the other couples, he said, “Tell me that you missed me as well.”

She shouldn’t, but she did. “Dreadfully.”

He grinned, even as his eyes promised she’d not be lonely later tonight.

“Don’t look so smug. It only reinforces how difficult a relationship with you is.”

“Doesn’t it make it worthwhile when we’re together?”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, you are arrogant.”

“Only if I claim what I can’t deliver. What do you see in him?”

“Who? Chetwyn?”

He nodded. “He seems rather uninteresting to me.”

“Little you know. He is a man of many facets. He’s working to better those less fortunate.”

“Well then, he’s a saint, isn’t he?”

“Don’t mock him. At least he’s doing something larger than himself.”

“You admire that.”

“I do. Rather a lot actually.”

“We should discuss this further. Meet me in the garden three dances from now.”

Glancing around, she saw her brother dancing with Lady Hermione. They were both watching her and Tristan rather than each other. She was surprised they didn’t crash into someone. “Now that my brothers know you’re here they’ll be watching my every move.”

“Then I’ll make certain they see me leave through the front door.”

“You’re very good at these games. I don’t want to think about how often you’ve played them.”

“You’re not a game to me.”

“What am I then, Tristan?”

“I don’t bloody well know. I only know that I have a desperate desire to be on the sea, but my ship remains in port and I am where I would rather not be.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You sound so terribly unhappy about it.”

“Disgusted actually. I’m accustomed to going where I want to go when I want to go. Yet here I am, floundering in indecision. So meet me in the garden. Or would you rather I crawl in through your window?”