Bound By Temptation (13 page)

“I am not sure I see why I should. I would of course want to know that she was well-spoken and knew the proper duties of a wife, but beyond that I do not see why I should take an interest.”

Clara stared at him, trying to determine his seriousness. She had never observed in him a great sense of humor, but the speech was so far from her own beliefs as to be impossible to accept—and there was a gleam in his eye. Marriage was a matter of great importance. Masters appeared to place less significance on it than he would on choosing between sausages and kippers for breakfast.

“Tell me then,” she said. “Who here do you fancy as a bride?”

He looked about the room, his glance moving from group to group. She watched his eyes sweep up and down several young women. His announced preference might be for slender blondes, but his eyes seemed more drawn to those with curves. There was more than one ample bosom that he paused over.

Her own curves were more than the equal of any of those he lingered over. She pushed the thought away as soon as she had it. Her purpose was not to attract the blasted man.

It was not.

Still—she drew her shoulders back so that her dress pulled tight. There was no problem with letting the man see what he would be missing in the future. Almost on cue, his gaze darted back to her and settled. She smiled widely.

“I believe that either of the Miss Thwaites or Miss Northouse would do,” he said as his eyes returned to her face.

“I’ve always heard that men had a partiality for twins, but I must admit that I would find the
matter confusing. As for Miss Northouse, I believe that her nuptials to Mr. Perry will be announced within the week.”

“How do women know these things? You must have barely arrived in Town, and already you know the latest gossip.” He determinedly turned from her and gazed back at the dance floor.

“It is certainly not the latest gossip, and I keep a regular correspondence with Lady Smythe-Burke. She seems informed on most of society’s affairs.”

“Affairs.” He let the word linger on his lips but did not turn back to her. “Are you interested in society’s affairs?”

How to reply to that? Again, she could not read him properly. She normally considered herself a fair judge of people, but suddenly he seemed a cipher to her. “And should I not be interested in society’s affairs?”

Answering a question with a question, that was always effective. And she let her own voice deepen at the end, saying much more beyond the words. Would he be the one to take the wordplay a step further?

“Society is always important.” His voice was again somber. “Miss Thompson appears well raised.” He gestured at an exceptionally tall woman standing near the windows. She had flaxen hair, but was otherwise nondescript.

“I have never heard anything unbecoming about her.”

“And you would have?”

“Indeed, I do believe that she is said to be both well mannered and a good conversationalist. Although perhaps you do not require the last.”

He turned to her, and again there was that fiery blue glow in his dark eyes. “I would prefer a wife who could ease conversation at dinner.”

“I would have thought you were happy to do all the talking.”

“It is nice to have someone to agree with one.” That time she caught the quirk of his lips.

“Miss Thompson is perhaps not for you then. I do believe that being a good conversationalist requires one to do more than agree.”

“Not in my world.”

She started to speak, but then closed her lips, refusing the bait.

“You’ve turned quiet now,” he said after a moment. “It was one of the things I liked about you at the start, your ability to be silent. I’ve found most women talk incessantly.”

Her gaze dropped. “I didn’t realize you liked anything about me.”

He stepped toward her until the distance between them was only barely proper. “There are many things I like about you—even when I do not want to.”

She could feel his breath on her forehead, scent the wine he must have had with dinner. The temptation to lean into him was great, to feel just for a second the warmth of his body pressed against hers. Instead, she stepped back. “Have you been in
troduced to Miss Thompson? I am well acquainted with her mother from my childhood.”

He stepped back and grinned. “Do you mean you are of an age with her mother? I had not realized you were so ancient.”

“What would you do if I said yes?” She could not resist smiling back at him. “Given that you are several years older than I, that would mean you could be her father.”

“I do feel it sometimes.”

“As do I.”

He stepped away. “I was introduced a few nights past. I shared a country dance with Miss Thompson. I shall go pay my respects now.”

“Yes, you should.” She watched him walk away.

She should mingle herself. There were many here whose company she enjoyed.

She tried. She really did.

She danced two dances with men whose company she had enjoyed in the past. Neither one held her attention. Instead, her gaze kept straying to Masters and Miss Thompson. He escorted her to a corner table and fetched her a lemonade. Clara could not help noticing how his eyes stayed fastened on Miss Thompson’s face. Perhaps that was an advantage to being rather less endowed, men spoke to you and not your breasts.

Damnation. She should be graciously flirting with her partner, not peeking at a man who didn’t even like her—although he said there were things about her that he liked.

No, she would not think of that.

Mr. Brimble, her current partner, was a good-looking man. He was only slightly taller than she, but of athletic stature. He spoke well and was often amusing. He should have been an ideal companion.

Good God, she was sounding like Masters.

She turned to Mr. Brimble and forced herself to concentrate. He had kissed her once. It had been several years before, but it had not been a bad kiss. She was not sure why things had not progressed further.

Masters was holding out his hand to Miss Thompson. Was he going to ask her to dance? It was late to take to the floor. No, they were just strolling.

Mr. Brimble was talking again. She really must attend. “I am so sorry, but could you repeat that? The music is a trifle loud.”

“Do you really think so? Perhaps you would care to stroll in the gardens.” Mr. Brimble shot an eager look toward the glass doors that led outside.

She knew that look. Strolling was not what he had in mind. She debated for half a moment. Or at least she tried to. She was not so fixated on a man she should not even want that she would refuse someone else without thought. “I am so sorry, but I really must excuse myself for a moment.”

“Of course.” Even before he had finished the two words, Mr. Brimble’s head was turning, looking for a new companion.

Men.

Blast all of them.

She nodded once more in the direction of his departing back and turned toward the door that led out and toward the ladies’ withdrawing room. She would splash water on her face and gain a few moments’ quiet. Then she would make a polite farewell to Wimberley and head off to her peaceful home.

The water in the pitcher was only tepid, but still it felt good to splash it on her hot cheeks. How could they feel so flushed yet look so pale? She was definitely not at her best tonight. The winter had not been a kind one. There were the beginnings of tiny lines at the corners of her eyes, and she feared perhaps there was even a furrow between her brows.

Age had never been something she feared, but she could not help leaning toward the mirror and pulling the skin tight. Perhaps it was but a trick of the candlelight. When she turned her head just so, the line disappeared completely.

She splashed again, wishing the water was cold enough to clear her mind.

“Did you speak with him?” A high, shrill, and very young voice echoed as its owner entered the room. She was petite and very blond. “My mother says that his estate is quite turned around and that soon he’ll be considered a catch. She thinks I should cast a lure now for fear in another year he’ll be beyond my reach.”

“What nonsense. Clearly your mother has not
spent time talking to him.” Another girl entered right behind. This one was darker and perhaps even younger. “I can’t believe any girl would ever want to spend enough time with him to form an attachment. He rambles on and on, never giving one a chance to speak.”

“You are being harsh now.” The blond one spoke again as she stepped around Clara. “I only wanted to remark that my mother is becoming quite desperate. I am twenty and still unwed. If I am not careful, she’ll be interviewing the footmen to see if any of them have saved their guineas.”

The two girls talked through her as if she was not even there. It made her feel frumpy and ancient. The memories of engaging in similar behavior herself, before her marriage to Michael, did not lessen the feeling of age.

“A footman might at least be fun,” the dark one answered. You can be sure he would not lecture you on the proper number of dresses for a lady to own. I had only met the man five minutes before and suddenly we were talking of my wardrobe. Can you imagine?”

“Did you really? How improper.”

“And not even interesting.” The brunette took a position beside Clara and started to smooth her own hair. “If I am going to have an improper discussion, it should include something worth giggling about and not leave me wondering if I should be saving my pin money.”

“Like footmen. Have you called upon Lady Smythe-Burke recently? She had a new one, and
you should see the way his calves fill out his stockings.”

“You should not say such things, Jane.”

Jane Burke, that was the blonde’s name. Clara wondered if she should finger her own hair smooth. Soft tendrils had escaped to curl about her face.

“Eugenia, you know it is true. And besides, I am only looking. I am sure my mother will find someone suitable and I will flirt a little and that will be that. I just don’t need it to be now. Twenty is not too old. I am only just beginning to be allowed to enjoy myself.”

“I do know,” Eugenia answered. “There is no reason at all you should even consider a man like Mr. Masters. I don’t care if his estates grow gold. He would never give you a suitable allowance and would lecture you for every penny that you did spend.”

“And he is old. I don’t want to marry a man who must be well above thirty. I want somebody who still knows how to dance and have a good time.”

Eugenia took Jane’s hand and pulled her back toward the door. “Well, Mr. Masters does know how to dance.”

“And I imagine his calves look just fine in stockings,” Jane answered.

“Or without.”

The two girls were giggling away.

Just as they got to the door, Eugenia stopped. “I still wouldn’t want to have to talk with him.
I’ve had enough lectures on how to behave from my father. Nobody else is going to tell me what to do.”

Then they were gone.

Clara shook her head, letting the curls spring free about her face.

She knew exactly what she had to do. Her earlier kernel of an idea had been good. She would repay Masters by helping him find a wife.

“Y
ou what?” Masters could not control the shock in his voice. It was bad enough that she had breached the security of his home under pretense of an afternoon call, but this, this was beyond comprehension.

“I want to help you find a wife. It is the perfect way to return the favor you did me with Mr. Green—to make us even.” Clara settled herself comfortably in the leather chair before the fire, his chair.

He bet she knew it was his chair. That was why she smiled so smugly. It certainly had nothing to do with this ridiculous idea she was proposing. “I do not need any assistance. I am managing just fine on my own.”

“I don’t believe you are.” She shifted slightly, drawing the blue velvet of her morning dress tight across her chest. He would not look. He would not. It did not matter to him that she had the finest pair of breasts he’d ever seen. His fingers twitched as he remembered the feel of them, the weight of them.

He turned and strode to the window, staring out first at the neat, unassuming plantings that surrounded his grand home and then at the busy street. There were more carriages than usual for this hour of the day—not many more, but still a distinct increase. “I assure you that you are wrong. I had not a single difficulty last night.”

The velvet of her skirts crunched as she moved about in the chair. He refused to imagine what the movement was.

She took a sip of her drink and smiled knowingly at him. “And how did you find Miss Jane Burke and Miss Eugenia—I can’t even recall her family name. Did they seem pleased with your conversation?”

“Miss Eugenia Banks, I believe. I found them quite delightful. I would consider either one of them, although I do not know enough of Miss Banks’s family.”

“You met them for no more than five minutes each and you are considering them for marriage and your only concern is family? Or had you met the young ladies on a previous occasion?”

“No, I had never had the pleasure before last evening.” He leaned closer to the window. Somebody down the street was clearly receiving a great number of visitors. He could not be sure which house it was. Struthers’s, perhaps. “I was, however, favorably impressed by both young women. They were very attentive to my conversation.”

“And do you believe the ladies were similarly impressed with you?”

He straightened, but continued to stare out the window. “I have no reason to think that they were not.”

The chair creaked, and he heard her soft steps on the carpet. She walked toward him but did not come close. “Then you definitely need my help.”

“Because I impressed two young ladies?” He turned around and faced her.

“No, because you did not.” He had thought she would grin at her words, but she did not. Her face was still. “They had been told good things about your estates and I believe had some admiration for your calves, but your personality left them unmoved.”

He narrowed his eyes and stared straight at her. “And you know this because…”

“I know this because the young ladies in question are clearly not known for their discretion.”

“You mean you eavesdropped. I would have thought you were better than that.”

Oh, she did not like that. As he watched, her chin came up and her lips pursed. He had thought she would turn away, but she did not.

“You mean,” she said, “
even
someone like me. You might as well add the word when your inflection says it for you. And I don’t know that it would be considered eavesdropping when the conversation was held right through me, as if I weren’t there. The young ladies also have much to learn about manners.”

He wished he had not turned away from the
window. He wanted time to consider her words without feeling that every movement was judged. “Why don’t you just tell me what Miss Burke and Miss Banks said? It is clear that you mean to.”

Finally, she turned from him, going to stare at a portrait of his parents that hung high on the wall, above a painting of him and his sisters. He should have removed it years ago. He was glad she did not comment on it. Rather, she too seemed to need the time to think, to gather her words.

“Whatever else you may think of me you should know that I am not a gossip,” she said with care. “I would not have ever mentioned the comments were it not that I felt the situation must be addressed. I would never dream of sharing further details that were discussed, no matter how lax the ladies in question were in guarding their privacy.”

He drew in a deep breath. Her spine had straightened as she spoke and she looked distinctly prickly. He ran a hand through his hair. “I do believe you. I am sorry that I implied otherwise. I have never heard you mentioned as a gossip and I should have inquired how you came to know of the young ladies’ preferences before jumping to conclusions.”

She sniffed and did not say anything. His mother’s portrait continued to hold her gaze. He wished she would gaze anywhere but there.

It was his turn to walk toward her. “I truly do apologize. It is unlike me to be so unmannerly.”

She snorted. She actually snorted. “You forget I know your sister. I have heard otherwise.”

“I do not believe any of us would wish to be judged by a younger sibling’s recollection.”

“Violet was not so young when you forced her to marry that she has faulty remembrance.”

“So we are back to that.”

“Your mother—it is your mother, isn’t it?—is very like Violet. I have never seen eyes of that shade on another.”

“Yes, that is my mother.”

“It’s not just the eyes, though. There is something in the curve of the mouth, a desire to have fun perhaps.” She turned to him in question.

She knew she should not have spoken as she watched his eyes ice over. If he had seemed dismissive before, now he seemed ready to physically remove her from his presence.

“Yes.” His voice was clipped. “Violet does bear some resemblance to my mother.” It did not sound like a compliment.

“Your sister has spoken of her fondly.” There could be nothing harmful in saying that.

“I am not surprised.”

Clara did not know what to say to that. Perhaps that was his plan. She closed her eyes a second and then tilted her chin down, staring at him from under her lashes. She would let him get away with it—this time. “So what do you think? Will you let me help you find a bride?”

He blinked at that. “I don’t see why you should want to.”

“I am, to be honest, not sure either, but now
that the thought has struck I find myself most compelled. And it will let me feel less in your debt. A feeling I am not fond of.”

His brows drew together. “Let us be seated again and we can discuss the matter. I must admit I do not understand what you propose.”

She turned and walked back to the chair before the fire. She had noted his look earlier and knew very well that it was his chair. Spreading her skirts with care, she made herself comfortable. “I am not sure that I have a purpose beyond the stated one—to find you a wife. I only know that watching the fiasco last evening, I was pained on your behalf and wished to offer my services.”

He shot her a definite look. She should not have phrased the ending in quite that fashion. She looked down at her hands.

“I do not see that it was a fiasco, but would, after some slight reflection, admit that perhaps it did not proceed as smoothly as I had thought.”

It was a great concession coming from him. She raised her head. “Why do you want a wife? Or perhaps I should say why now? You did not consider taking one when Violet married Dratton. No, don’t tighten your lips. I do not wish to broach the subject of her marriages, I merely remark that you arranged your sister’s marriage almost fifteen years past. Did you never consider taking a bride in all that time?”

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I did consider it at the time, but the world regards men and women very differently in these situations—as
I am sure you are aware. There is a vast difference between a seventeen-year-old girl of some beauty and a man not yet at his majority who is riddled with debt. There was no lady offering vast sums to wed me. I would admit—and only to you—that I did receive one less than honorable offer, but the amount would have done little more than provide bread for the table.”

His ears turned red as he spoke. She longed to inquire who had made such an offer. There were several women of her acquaintance who had entered into such relationships offering money for sex, but despite the rumors that had grown up around her, she had never felt any desire to pay for company. If a man did not desire her for herself, what was the point? She held her curiosity back. There were some questions that did not need to be answered. “I will concede the point. I can see that unless a great
tendre
had developed between you and some girl, most families would not have been inclined to marry into debt. And even with an affection it—”

“—marriage might not have been allowed. I am well aware of the facts. I would confess I had never considered marriage before my parents’ death—what boy of that age does?” He continued to stare at the ceiling, his eyes seemingly tracing imaginary cracks. “I do not know what Violet has told you of the situation with Colonel Foxworthy a year ago. But I did not feel free to marry until the matter was resolved.”

There was temptation to lie, to pretend that she knew all and then lure him into revelation, but the narrow band of trust that grew between them held. She sensed he did not have many people to trust. “She told me only the barest of facts. Foxworthy had some unflattering papers and it was necessary to retrieve them. I know Isabella was involved and that you meant for her to marry Foxworthy. Violet expressed some anger at the time, but then once the matter was concluded she seemed to have reached a truce with you. I know there is still some mystery regarding Foxworthy’s death and Isabella’s disappearance.”

“That is accurate—as far as it goes.”

She leaned toward him, hoping he would say more.

He did not.

She sat back, tapped her foot once. “So I understand why you have not married in the past—what has changed your mind?”

“I suppose it is simply time. I have spent the last year hunting for my sister—unsuccessfully. It has made me feel more alone and also made me realize how quickly the world can change. I wish for the stability of a family.”

“Are you giving up on finding Isabella?” It was an awkward question, but one that must be asked.”

“Give up? No. I still have hope. But you are correct that there is some acceptance of reality in my decision. I have spent so much of my life
working toward something and never reaching the goal. I think these past months have made me decide it is time to stop and simply work toward building the life I want. And that life includes a family.”

The warmth of the fire radiated against her face and she turned toward it. His words were bittersweet. His dream was not so different from her own; it was what she had hoped for on her return to Town. In the past, he had discussed marriage so coldly, and he still made it sound so simple. Could marriage ever be so easy? she wondered. It did not seem likely. “Are you sure this is what you wish? I do not talk of my own marriage often, but I will say that I cannot imagine the marriage you have described.”

“I am not you.”

“Must you always say that with such disdain? You know nothing about me and yet you continually use a tone that makes me feel dirty.”

“I assure you that I do not mean—”

“Do not lie to me.” She stood and walked over to stare up at the portrait of his parents again. “You mean to sound exactly as you do. I don’t know why you see fit to judge me, but you do.”

“I assure you that you are reading intent where there is none. I merely question why you should think you are able to help me find a wife.”

She closed her eyes. No matter how his words reassured, she did not feel any warmth. He continued to disparage her no matter what she said. It
made her feel very empty and very old. For years she had not cared what people said of her. There were reasons for her actions. They were not reasons that would make sense to anybody else, but to her they were the world.

When he spoke she did care. His beliefs bit to her core. It made no sense, but when he sneered it made her question every move she had made for years.

She straightened her spine and turned back to him, chin up. “I am suitable because I have been married, quite happily. I am qualified because I know everybody, and I do mean everybody. I can tell you who attends all the correct functions and dresses impeccably in the latest fashion, but is rumored to be running from creditors on all fronts. I can tell you which girl has flirted with the footmen and which has not.

“I know that you think my reputation might prove a hindrance, but I assure you it is not so. While perhaps I would not be seen as an ideal chaperone, and I would probably not choose to host a dinner party for those young and innocent enough to suit your apparent desires, I am well accepted in society. I know which lines I can cross and which I cannot. And I’ve yet to see a marriage-minded mother turn me away. Having an unwed earl for a stepson makes me most popular.” She finished in a rush and waited.

“I will not dispute your words.” He did not look persuaded.

It was worth another try. “I can help you choose who is suitable and who would bore you within minutes or spend you to the poorhouse. I can help guide you in the conversation that a young woman—and a young woman’s mother—wishes to hear. I am of the impression that you have not spent much time learning the intricacies of society, and I have become an expert”—she flashed him a look from under her lashes—“when I choose to be.”

He rose and walked toward her. “I am sure that you can be whatever you choose to be and I do not doubt your talents”—he let the word hang—“at matchmaking, but I am still not sure this is a suitable arrangement, all things considered.”

“All things considered.” She took a step toward him. “Do you mean because we were intimate? Because one morning we took leave of our senses and did something”—she watched his expression carefully as she continued—“we both regret?”