TemptedByHisKiss (3 page)

He laid a palm over an open page. “But you
are
in the room, without so much as a by-your-leave, I might add. What is it you want?”

“A book, my lord. Seeing I am snowbound inside this house, I require some means of occupying myself. I searched the other rooms—well, most of them, at least—and realized my selection is rather limited, what with all the volumes being in here with you. I’ll only be a minute or two.”

He gave a plainly skeptical snort, scowled at her for a few seconds more, then returned to his reading. Turning her head away as well, she perused the offerings. Powerfully aware of him sitting only a few feet away, she chose a volume with somewhat less than her full attention. Taking the book down, she flipped it open to a random page.

Ugh!
She recoiled at the topic. Closing the book, she returned it to its place. Her second selection proved lit
tle better—this time covering the fascinating subject of crop rotation.

“You’d do better with the shelf on the wall to your right,” Cade Byron drawled. “I believe you are in the agriculture section at present.”

She shoved the farming treatise back onto its shelf. “You might have said, you know.”

“But then I wouldn’t have been able to pretend you’re not here, would I?”

She waited to see if he might crack a smile. He didn’t, although his eyes did glitter with what she surmised to be suppressed amusement. Tossing him a narrow-eyed glare, she moved several feet across the room toward the area he suggested.

These shelves, she discovered, were filled with titles and authors she recognized—Sheridan, Pope, Richardson, and Voltaire, just to name a few. Sliding out a copy of
Candide
, she opened it to discover the work in its original French. She read a few lines and began to smile.

“Better, I take it?” Lord Cade commented.

She glanced over. “Much. Thank you, my lord.”

He gave a negligent shrug. “You’re welcome.”

Turning back, she selected a volume of poetry. Yet even as she examined the book, her mind was taken up with thoughts of the man seated only feet away. That last exchange had actually seemed pleasant. The most civilized of their acquaintance.
Mayhap he is mellowing and has resigned himself to my presence in his house.

“The way I see it,” he remarked, thumbing over a page in his book, “the sooner you choose something, the sooner I’ll have my privacy back.”

So much for cordial discourse!
For a long moment she stared. “You really are a most disagreeable man, do you know that, my lord?”

If she’d expected him to ruffle up over her insult, however, she was quickly disappointed. Looking up, he met her gaze. “That’s right. I am disagreeable. So take as many volumes as you like and hurry back to your chair in the drawing room.”

She hugged a book to her breasts. “How do you know I have been spending my days in the drawing room?”

He scowled, obviously annoyed with himself over his comment. “Just a guess. Where else would you spend your time?”

But it had not been a guess, she realized.
Has he been inquiring after me?
The notion made her smile. “Well,” she mused aloud, “there are other places in which I might have made myself comfortable. My bedchamber, for instance. The room is most excellent.”

A mocking light came into his gaze. “I am glad you approve.”

“Oh, I do. My feather tick is soft as a cloud. I could lie on it forever. Don’t you love lying on a good, comfortable bed?” Abruptly she broke off, realizing what she’d just said, and the suddenly intimate nature of the topic. She hoped he didn’t think she was flirting with him.
Come to think of it, am I flirting with him?

Lord Cade, however, did not rise to the bait. “Again, I am relieved you find the accommodations to your liking.”

“How could I not?” she murmured, recovering. “You have a lovely house.”

“It suits my purposes.”

She paused. “You have a most excellent cook as well.
A shame you do not take the opportunity to do his fare justice.”

“How so? I am afraid I do not follow.”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice over the past few days that you haven’t once put in an appearance at a meal. Although I suppose you must eat sometime.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “On occasion.”

“Then you should make those occasions more frequent. It’s plain that you need plumping up.”

His eyes widened behind his spectacles. “Pardon me?”

“You ought to eat more, my lord. You’re far too thin for your frame.”

“Good Lord, you sound like my mother.”

“If I do, then you ought to listen to her. She’s clearly a wise woman.”

“She is indeed. Wise enough to know I make my own decisions. Now, choose your books and be on your way. Your two minutes elapsed some while ago.”

Meg hesitated at the dismissal, then swung around and began studying books in earnest. She selected two volumes of poetry, a novel, and a satire. “Well, I suppose I shall be going,” she announced.

He kept reading.

“Thank you for letting me borrow these.”

He gave a faint nod but didn’t look up.

“Mayhap I shall see you at dinner this evening,” she prompted. “Should you decide to take a meal, that is.”

He turned a page in his book and made no reply. When the silence became overwhelming, she gave a soft sigh, then made her way from the room.

Cade waited until he heard the door click shut. Only then did he look up, imagining Meg as she walked back
to her chair in the drawing room. He knew all about her habits; Beaks and his footman, Harvey, gave him frequent reports.

So Miss Amberley wants me to join her for dinner? Foolish girl doesn’t know when she’s better off.

Well, he would have his dinner where he always did—right here in this study, on a tray, with a bottle of scotch near at hand. And Miss Amberley could eat alone in the dining room, just as he knew she did each night.

He frowned at the notion, strangely disquieted. Her loneliness was not his concern. After all, he hadn’t invited her here, and had no obligation to keep her company.

Still, what would be the harm in sharing a meal?

Brushing aside the thought as nonsense, he resumed his reading. Fifteen minutes passed, however, before he was finally able to concentrate on the words.

A
t six-thirty that evening Meg took her now customary seat at the long walnut dining room table. Placing a white linen napkin across her lap, she waited for Harvey to return with the first course. “Potato soup,” he’d informed her with a crooked grin before departing for the kitchen.

Glancing idly around the room, she occupied herself by studying the familiar egg-and-dart molding on the ceiling cornice, the cream-and-gold flocked wallpaper, and the elegant, brown velvet curtains. The room possessed a refined, rather masculine atmosphere, one she thought eminently suited to its enigmatic owner.

Linking her palms in her lap, she forced away a sigh. After all, she should be well-used to dining alone by now, seeing as she had done so every night since her arrival. She supposed she might have once again asked Amy to join her, but the girl just wasn’t at ease in the formal room, and she hadn’t the heart to force the issue.

Briefly, she had toyed with the idea of bringing one of her new books to the table, so she might read while she ate. But the notion went against the rules of proper decorum. And although no one but she and the footman would ever know, she knew her lady mother would have been disappointed had she indulged in such “coarse” behavior.

Soon enough she heard footsteps, her stomach rumbling in silent anticipation of the dish to come. Her eyes widened, however, when she glanced toward the double doors and saw not the footman, but Cade Byron walk slowly inside.

“Good evening, Miss Amberley,” he greeted. “My apologies for arriving late.”

All she could do was stare, struck by his unassailable masculine beauty, and the fact that for once he was most elegantly and appropriately attired. A pristine white cravat was tied at his throat, and a white shirt and striped fawn waistcoat buttoned across the broad expanse of his chest. A dark blue tailcoat fit his shoulders, emphasizing their powerful shape, and pantaloons, rather than evening breeches, graced his long legs—a sartorial choice that was quite proper given the informal country setting. His cheeks were freshly shaven and his hair neatly combed, although his usual recalcitrant curl had escaped to dangle across his forehead in a most temptingly attractive way.

“My lord,” she murmured, somehow finding the strength to unglue her tongue from the inside of her mouth. “I…um…I did not realize you had decided to join me. Harvey made no mention of it.”

“Quite likely because I did not inform him of my intentions,” he remarked with a haughty quirk of one brow.

Crossing the room, he moved to the head of the table, then lowered himself into the chair to her right. His limp, she noticed, seemed less pronounced than it had been on that first evening. Perhaps he is feeling better, she mused, now that the storm has passed. Mayhap the improvement has put him in a more social frame of mind.

The footman entered moments later, a tureen of soup and a ladle borne on an oblong, silver tray. “Why hallo, your lordship. Are ye having dinner with the miss tonight?”

“That I am, Harvey. Another place setting, if you would be so good.”

“Right away, your lordship.” Placing his burden in front of Lord Cade, the young man went to retrieve a second plate, cutlery, and glassware.

Once the table was properly set and wine poured, Cade leaned forward to do the honors, steam rising in a small burst when he lifted the cover from the tureen. “Plenty for two, I’d say. But then my cook always has a tendency to prepare more than is strictly necessary.”

“Excellent. That way you may easily avail yourself of seconds.”

He raised a brow, pausing for a moment before taking the ladle in hand and dipping it into the soup. “Are you on about that again? As I advised you earlier, I do as I like.”

She waited while he filled and passed a bowl to the servant to set before her. Once he served himself, the footman stepped away. “And I must advise
you
that I shall do the same, my lord,” she replied in a soft tone. Dipping her spoon into the fragrant broth, she took a sip. “Hmm, delicious! Do go on before it grows cold.”

His lips firmed as if he were contemplating a retort. Instead he took up his own utensil and did as she suggested. “So,” he said at length. “Where is your cousin tonight? Why does she not join us?”

Droplets of soup splashed off Meg’s spoon, landing luckily back in the bowl rather than on the front of her dress. “Oh, she…um…wished to take a tray in her room. A bit of a headache.”

“How singular.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that I am given to understand she never dines with you. Is she much given to aches and pains?”

“No, not as a rule. She is of a retiring nature, however, and often prefers her own company.”

“Curious. She didn’t strike me as the retiring sort the morning we met.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving, as they say.”

“Indeed.” He ate a bit more, then set aside his spoon. Taking up his napkin, he patted his lips, before reaching for his glass of wine. “Although, in this case, you might do us both the favor of ending this ruse of yours. It will not serve, you know.”

Her spoon bobbled again. “Excuse me?”

“You may cease pretending that Miss Jones is your cousin,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “We both know very well that she is not.”

“Of course she’s my cousin!” Meg defended on a sputter. “Why would you think otherwise?”

He tossed her a speaking glance. “Mainly because she’s been down in my kitchen chatting up my staff for the past two days. The young woman comes from Wiltshire, I believe, and doesn’t sound anything like a lady ought, or so Beaks informs me.”

Meg cursed silently beneath her breath and carefully laid down her spoon. “She has a bit of an accent, I admit.”

“And a loose tongue to go with it.”

Meg held steady for another moment, then let her shoulders droop in defeat. “I should have known she wouldn’t be able to resist going belowstairs. I warned her not to talk to
you
, but didn’t think I’d have to say anything about not fraternizing with your servants.”

His lips twitched with humor. “Well, she’s given you away, I am afraid.”

“So, it would appear,” she sighed. “I apologize for deceiving you, my lord, but such precautions seemed prudent at the time. Amy is my maidservant, you see.”

“Ah.” He sipped his wine.

“A friend of the family was supposed to travel with me, but her son came down ill on the morning of my departure. Seeing that my aunt had already sent a coach to collect me and there was no one else willing to make such a long trip, I decided that taking Amy would suffice. When we were forced to seek shelter here, I…um…thought it best not to reveal my actual situation.”

“And so you should not,” he told her in a gruff voice. “Have you no other relations who might have accompanied you? No brothers or uncles?”

She shook her head. “No. I am an only child and both of my parents are deceased. There is no one now, except for my great-aunt, that is. She has agreed to take me in, but could not make the trip herself. At sixty-five, she is far too old to journey long distances.”

“She ought to have sent a man.”

“Oh, she did. John Coachman has seen after Amy and me quite well at the inns.”

Lord Cade arched a brow. “And what of here? I have seen little of him here.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

Taking up the wine decanter, he added an inch to her glass before refilling his own. “I mean that you are, for all intents and purposes, alone with me. Aside from the obvious impropriety, there is the matter of your safety.”

Her brows knit in puzzlement. “What about my safety? I have been most comfortable.”

“And so you have. But what if I were another kind of man? What if I were the sort to have taken advantage of our unusual situation? You must realize, Miss Amberley, that had I wished, I might have done almost anything to you by now.”

A startled laugh escaped her lips. “Are you saying you might have murdered me in my bed? Do not be ridiculous, my lord.”

“I wasn’t thinking about murder, but beds would definitely have been involved.”

Her eyes widened, her heart giving a tremendous thump. The treacherous organ beat even faster at the notion of him in her room. In her bed. Kissing her, touching her, doing all sorts of dark, sinful things of which she could only speculate. She shivered, abruptly glad he couldn’t read her mind.

He laughed, dimples she had never noticed before appearing in his cheeks. “I see I have shocked you,” he said. “Pray do not be alarmed, since I have no such designs upon your person, lovely though it may be. I am merely pointing out the uncertain nature of your circumstances. When you travel on, I shall send one of my own men to accompany you.”

“Thank you, my lord. That is very good of you.”

He gave a negligent shrug, his gaze turning toward the doorway. “Ah, here comes our next course. Unless I have put you off your food, that is? Perhaps I should not have inflicted my company upon you, after all.”

Forcing her still-speeding pulse to calm, she met his gaze. “No, I am glad you are here, and it is no infliction.”

“Despite my being a most disagreeable man?” he inquired with a gentle tease.

The corners of her lips turned up. “Yes, even in spite of that.” Suddenly, she could not look away, sinking helplessly into the vibrant green depths of his eyes. But then she remembered herself and forced her gaze aside. “Oh, look,” she said on a shaky breath. “Roast chicken, onion tart, and carrots. Cook has outdone himself.”

Quietly agreeing, Lord Cade took up a knife and began to carve.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, the pair of them confining their conversation to interesting yet far less provocative topics.

As Cade ate, he watched Meg, enjoying the sparkle in her intelligent blue eyes and the expressive way she used her hands when she strove to make a point. To his surprise, he ate a great deal more than usual, truly enjoying the food as he had not in far too long.

He didn’t know why he’d decided to indulge her. Even now he could be in his study, savoring his books and his privacy.
Boredom, perhaps?
Though he didn’t consider himself bored.
Loneliness, maybe
? Though he had never minded being alone. Yet tonight he found himself relaxing, even forgetting; the sorrows of the past months set at bay for this brief while.

And then the meal was over, dessert and tea served and consumed, a glass of port poured for himself. Turning to assist her from her chair, he prepared to bid her a good-night.

“Are you weary, my lord?” she asked, rising in an elegant sweep.

He arched a brow. “Not as such, no. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if you might join me in a game?”

“A game? My apologies, but I’m afraid I am not much given to such pursuits these days.”

“But surely you play chess. I could not help but notice the board in your study.”

“You are correct,” he said, realizing he’d been fairly caught. “Still, the hour is advanced…”

“It is only half past eight. Surely even you do not retire quite so early?”

Actually, he retired late as a rule. The later the better, he found, since he often had trouble sleeping unless he went to his bed in a state of near exhaustion. Drink helped, and if he imbibed enough, he could sometimes sleep deeply, the dreams temporarily quieted.

He studied Meg’s hopeful expression. For a moment he considered accepting her invitation, but then ruthlessly pushed the impulse aside. He’d already spent more than enough time in her company tonight as it was. “Be that as it may, I have other matters which require my attention this evening.”

She lay a hand against the back of her chair. “What ‘other’ matters? Perhaps I might be of assistance. If you are planning to review accounts, I am told I have a keen eye for figures as well as a neat hand with a quill.”

Accounts! he thought. Persistent minx. “No, not accounts,” he admitted.

“Research then?” she ventured, her lake blue eyes gleaming with obvious mischief. “That must be the reason you lock yourself away in your book room for hours at a time. Because you are doing research.”

His mouth twitched, threatening to turn into a smile. “No, I am not doing research, either.”

“Then what, my lord? Surely now that you have emerged from your solitude, you cannot mean to retreat into it again so soon.”

That was exactly what he meant to do. He should have guessed that if he gave her an inch, she would demand a mile.

“Because if that is the case,” she argued further, “then I must urge you to continue mending your ways. Besides, what is one little game of chess? Surely you can spare a few minutes tonight regardless of your pressing schedule.”

“Minutes can sometimes turn into hours while playing chess.”

“But no doubt that will not be so in this case. Unless you are worried I might best you?”

This time he did smile, his grin one of confident certainty. “No insult meant, Miss Amberley, but I am quite an experienced player.”

“Then you should have no hesitation. Give me an hour’s entertainment, and if I lose, I promise I shall not intrude upon your solitude again for the remainder of my stay.”

He considered her proposal, curiously tempted.

Before he could respond, she held up a finger. “If, on the other hand,
I
should win, then you must promise to act more the proper host.”

“Which would entail…?”

“Oh, attendance at meals. The noon meal as well as the evening. I shall grant you leave to forgo breakfast, so as not to interfere with your slumber.”

“How magnanimous,” he said, setting a casual hand against the dining table. “What more?”

“As host, you would need to provide some sort of entertainment. My needs are simple. Cards or charades in the evening should suffice.”

“I have no quarrel with cards, but I must tell you, I draw the line at charades. Crambo is out as well.”

A smile broke over her winsome face. “Very well, no charades or crambo, then. So, my lord, have we a wager?”

He hesitated, diverted by her ploy in spite of himself. “We might. Although I must tell you I had no idea you were so enamored of my companionship.”