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Authors: Stephanie Laurens

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BOOK: Temptation and Surrender
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Rising, Jonas nodded. “I’ll speak to Oscar and make sure he knows.”

Filing accompanied him to the door and followed him onto the porch. They both paused, shoulder to shoulder, looking down the common—at the inn.

Filing shifted, as if to go inside. “I’ll have Henry with me all afternoon—I’ll let you know if I learn anything more about the family.”

Jonas nodded, stepping onto the porch steps. “While he’s with you, I plan to interrogate the lovely Miss Beauregard herself—I’ll let you know if I extract anything interesting.”

About to turn to the door, Filing paused. “She’s wary of you.”

“I know.” Jonas smiled as he reached the bottom of the steps. “But I believe I have precisely the right carrot to dangle before her dainty little nose.”

G
ood afternoon, Miss Beauregard.”

Em looked up from her pile of lists to discover Jonas Tallent blocking the doorway to her tiny office. She managed not to smile, but it took effort—he was a sight to please in a long, many-caped greatcoat that lapped at the tops of his highly polished Hessians. He’d exchanged his hacking jacket for a more formal coat and waistcoat; he looked like he’d stepped from a page of the
Gentlemen’s Gazette
.

Battening down her unruly senses, she nodded briefly. “Mr. Tallent.”

When he said nothing more, just looked at her, she felt compelled to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, it’s I who am here to help you.”

Uttered in his deep, ineffably smooth voice, the words rolled over her. Her instincts rose in instant suspicion.

His smile only deepened, as if he knew. “It occurred to me that it might be beneficial for you to meet Finch, our supplier in Seaton, and look over his wares firsthand. I’m headed there now in my curricle, and wondered if you would like to come along.”

Meeting her principal supplier, at his warehouse, with her employer—he who controlled the account she would be using—by her side…

She would have taken an oath that nothing would have got her physically closer to Jonas Tallent by choice, but…she set down her pencil. “How long will we be gone?”

“Two hours at most, there and back with time to talk to Finch.” He nodded to the pile of papers under her hand. “Bring your lists, and you can give him your first order.”

It was far too good an opportunity to pass up—something she was very sure Tallent knew.

What he didn’t know was that she was perfectly capable of keeping him in his place, no matter what he thought or tried. That was one thing her years at her uncle’s house had taught her; she was now an expert in the not-so-subtle art of keeping gentlemen in line.

Pushing back her chair, she rose. “Very well. If you’ll wait while I fetch my bonnet?”

“Of course.” He stood back to let her pass him. As she turned toward the common room, he added, “You might want your pelisse as well—the wind is always stronger closer to the coast.”

Heading for the stairs, she smiled to herself. Any gentleman who instinctively thought of a lady’s comfort was unlikely to pose any great threat.

She started up the stairs.

He paused at their foot. “My horses are frisky. I’ll meet you outside.”

Raising a hand in acknowledgment, she continued to her room.

Five minutes later, she joined him outside, and felt forced to amend her definition of “threat.” The chestnut steeds prancing between the shafts looked like the devil’s own.

He saw her hesitation, grinned. “Don’t worry. I can manage them.”

She looked up and met his eyes. “I’ve heard gentlemen say those words before—usually just before they overturn their carriage.”

He laughed. The sound did disturbing things to her insides.

Transferring the reins to one hand, he laid the other over his heart. “I swear on my honor I won’t land you in a ditch.”

She humphed. Gathering her skirts, she reached for the curricle’s side.

He held out his gloved hand to help her up; without thinking, she laid her fingers in his. His hand closed firmly about hers—and her world tilted.

Rocked.

He drew her up. She landed on the seat beside him, struggling not to gasp.

Good God!
When would her wretched senses stop reacting?

When would they get over him?

He hadn’t tried to hold on to her hand for any longer than necessary. He was wearing leather gloves, and so was she. Yet still the sensation of his fingers holding hers lingered, stealing her breath, making her heart pound.

Luckily, his horses, shifting restlessly, had claimed his attention. With just one last glance to make sure she was settled, he released the brake and loosened the reins. The chestnuts immediately surged, and they rattled out of the inn’s forecourt.

He turned the pair south. “Seaton’s almost directly south, more or less on the coast, and the roads are fairly direct.”

She nodded, not yet trusting her voice. She waited for him to start questioning her—she would have sworn that’s what he intended. Instead, once they were bowling along, he glanced at her once, but thereafter gave his attention to his horses, apparently feeling no need to converse.

The curricle rolled quite smoothly along, quite quickly, too, pulled effortlessly by the powerful horses. Her attention, too, fixed on the sleek pair. She knew enough to recognize prime horseflesh when she saw it; if Henry could see her now he’d turn green.

For his part, Jonas Tallent seemed an excellent whip—not showy or flashy, knowing just when to draw his leader in, when it was safe to lower his hands, just when to step in and restrain the highly strung pair.

“Have you had them for long?” She hadn’t meant to initiate any discussion, to show any interest, but the words were out before she’d thought.

“Since they were foals.” He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but after a moment added, “My brother-in-law, Lucifer Cynster, has a cousin—Demon Cynster—who’s one of the premier breeders of racehorses in England. These two are from his stud. He keeps those he considers better for racing, and the rest go to the family—which luckily for me includes anyone connected with the Cynsters.”

Lucifer?
Demon?
She almost asked, but at the last minute decided she really didn’t need to know. Instead…“Your brother-in-law—is he the one who lives at Colyton Manor?”

“Yes. He inherited the manor from the previous owner—Horatio Welham. Horatio was a collector, and Lucifer knew him through that. Horatio considered Lucifer the son he never had, so when Horatio died, Lucifer found himself the owner of Colyton Manor.”

“And then he married your twin.”

He nodded, glanced briefly her way. “You’ll meet Phyllida soon—that I can guarantee. She’ll have heard about you taking up the innkeeper’s position by now—she’ll be around to meet you as soon as she can get time away from her multiplying horde.”

“Horde?”

“She and Lucifer have two sons—two noisy, boisterous imps who take up a lot of Phyllida’s time. And multiplying because she’s expecting another.”

She let that, and his tone when he spoke of his sister and her brood, sink in. Eventually she asked, “Is there just the two of you—you and Phyllida?”

He glanced at her, mischief in his eyes. “Our parents always maintained two were enough.”

Pure curiosity prompted her to ask, “But what about you—did you think it was enough?”

He didn’t answer immediately. She wondered if he would, but finally he said, “Not all of us can be lucky enough to be part of a large family.”

She looked ahead, thought of her family—and saw no reason to dispute his statement.

Now that the ice had been broken she fully expected him to start probing. Instead, they rattled on through the fine autumn afternoon in a strangely comfortable silence. Birds flitted and sang; the salty tang in the air grew increasingly pronounced as they crested the last rise before the gentle downward slope to the cliff tops.

Despite all recent distractions, the quest that had brought her to Colyton was never far from her mind. As he set his horses trotting evenly down the slope, she glanced at him. “Tell me about the village in the wider sense. I know about the manor and the Grange. Are there other large houses around? Places with staff we might persuade to use the inn?”

He nodded. “Quite a few larger houses, as it happens. Ballyclose Manor’s the largest. That lies further along the lane beside the church. It’s owned by Sir Cedric Fortemain. Then there’s Highgate, owned by Sir Basil Smollet—that’s out along the lane on the other side of the rectory. You should probably add Dottswood Farm to the list. Although it’s not a house in the same sense as the others, it is a large holding supporting numerous families.”

He glanced at her. “That’s in the immediate area around the village. If you range further out, there are more, but the three houses I mentioned are…associated with the village, so to speak. All on those estates would consider Colyton their village.”

She nodded. “That’s what I wanted to know. Those are the people we need to draw in first.” And one of those houses would most likely be “the highest house, the house of the highest” in which the Colyton treasure was concealed.

Ballyclose Manor sounded like the place to start their search. She was tempted to ask more, to confirm that the Fortemain family, or whoever had lived at Ballyclose, had been the social leaders of the village long ago, but roofs came into view, lining the road ahead.

“Seaton.” As he checked his pair, Jonas gave himself a mental pat on the back for having managed to sit next to Miss Emily Beauregard’s slender form for nearly half an hour without triggering any frosty setdown—indeed, even better, she’d started to let her barriers—those she’d erected against him—come down.

They were still there, just not as heavily fortified as they had been; on a physical level he still had a challenge before him.

But his strategy for “interrogating” her seemed to be working. He’d reasoned that if he simply gave her the chance—horses and Cynsters notwithstanding—she would ask him things she wanted to know.

While her interest in the larger houses of the village might conceivably be due to her focus on expanding the inn’s clientele, he didn’t think that was the case; her mention of that had been an afterthought, an excuse for her question.

So she was interested in those houses—or one of those houses—for some reason. If he could restrain himself for the rest of the afternoon, who knew what he might learn?

He guided the curricle to Finch’s warehouse. Drawing his horses to a stamping halt in the yard before the heavy doors, he tossed the reins to a young lad who came running, and jumped down.

The horses had had the edge taken from their energy. He could let them stand for at least a little while.

Rounding the curricle, he saw his passenger was about to attempt to jump to the ground. “No. Wait.”

Poised on the edge of the curricle’s raised floor, gloved hands locked on either side of the frame, she looked up.

He grasped her waist and lifted her down—she tried to jump as he did, throwing him off balance.

She collided with him, breast to chest. Her weight was nowhere near enough to topple him; he staggered back a step, then halted.

With Miss Emily Beauregard in his arms.

Plastered against him.

For one finite moment, time stood still.

His brain seized; his heart stuttered, then stopped.

She wasn’t breathing, either.

She was gazing up at him, and he was lost in her eyes…

Sensation returned in a rush. Warmth—heat. His heart kicked to life, thudding altogether too hard.

His fingers flexed, gripping her waist.

Just as she dragged in a huge breath—and her breasts pressed into his chest.

Just as he realized what would inevitably happen—was inevitably happening—with her warm, soft curves pressed so temptingly against him.

Just as he remembered that he didn’t want to rattle her into taking flight.

Jaw setting, he forced his arms to work and set her back on her feet, a good half yard of clear air between them.

She dragged in a shuddering breath. “I’m
so
sorry.”

I’m not.
He bit his tongue, then managed to growl, “Never mind.” Manners raised their heads. “Are you all right?”

No!
Her senses were scrambled and her wits had flown. Em managed a nod. Her cheeks were flaming; she didn’t want to think what she must look like. She still felt hot all the way down her front—wherever her body had touched his—an acutely unnerving sensation.

She was certainly unnerved. Drawing in another tight breath, too shallow to steady her giddy head, she turned and surveyed the warehouse just as an older man came out.

“That’s Finch.”

She tensed, expecting to feel Tallent’s fingers close about her elbow. But he glanced at her briefly, then waved her forward, falling in by her side as she walked toward the man.

Her relief was tempered by that one swift glance. He knew he affected her, which was in no way comforting.

He cleared his throat and introduced her to Finch.

By ruthlessly forcing her mind to concentrate on Finch and all she’d come there to achieve—putting in a sizable order being just one part of her agenda—she managed to survive the next hour in a reasonable state.

Eventually, however, after an extended tour of the warehouse followed by discussions about deliveries and further orders, it was time to head back to Colyton. Which meant getting back into Jonas Tallent’s curricle.

Which she couldn’t do, certainly not before gentlemen, without assistance.

Just the thought of putting her hand in his again, and feeling his fingers close around hers, had anticipatory heat prickling along her arm.

Finch escorted them to the warehouse door, thoroughly pleased with her order. She’d put effort into charming the older man and knew she’d succeeded. He smiled delightedly as he shook her hand…

She smiled sweetly back. “Mr. Finch, I wonder if I could trouble you to hand me into the curricle? We do need to get on.” Looking into the yard, she saw the boy struggling to hold the revived and impatient horses, and smoothly added, “And Mr. Tallent’s horses are so restive.”

“Of course, of course, my dear Miss Beauregard.” Finch kept hold of her hand. “Here—do watch your step. There’s a hole there.”

She dutifully picked her way carefully along by Finch’s side. As he helped her up, she glanced, briefly, in Tallent’s direction.

And encountered a dark look. His lips had tightened into a line and his eyes were narrowed.

But he said nothing as he rescued his reins from the boy, stepped up into the curricle, and sat beside her.

She smiled once more on Mr. Finch—her unwitting savior. “Thank you, sir. I’ll look forward to receiving those goods tomorrow.”

“First thing!” Finch declared. “I’ll send the boy off with the dray at first light.”

Tallent saluted Finch with his whip. Finch bowed as the curricle lurched, then rattled forward. Tallent deftly turned it out of the yard; the horses quickly settled into their usual smooth gait.

BOOK: Temptation and Surrender
2.07Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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