A Sinful Temptation Read online

  “Perhaps.” Though Marcus had his doubts. Lord Ellesmere had raised and educated him and given him a lucrative salary and position of importance when he grew into manhood. For Marcus to turn his back on everything the marquess had done for him would be the height of disloyalty. Wouldn’t it?

  “I will return the papers to Lord Franklyn tomorrow and tell him I cannot accept his generous offer.”

  “Very well then,” Spence sighed. “Have it your way. But I think it idiotic to refuse. Now, if you will excuse me, I promised my wife ginger biscuits. I will see you tonight for the party?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.” Spence waved a hand in the air as he passed through the door but his voice drifted up the hallway and found Marcus’s ears. “All work and no play makes for a very dull life, Bowen.”

  Perhaps so. But work was all he had.

  Chapter Two

  Spence’s comment about all work making for a very dull life had stuck with Marcus long after his friend left his office. Watching Spence and his new wife, Caelie, over dinner that night had only served to drive the point home. The two were crazy in love and had a maddening way of interacting without using words, but rather through looks and touches and smiles; as if they had discovered a secret language only those graced by love could speak.

  Marcus did not fool himself into thinking such a fate awaited him. True love did not bloom in every garden, certainly not in his. At least not where it counted. But perhaps—and only perhaps—the time had come to consider finding a bride. He had made a small fortune through his investments. It only made sense he should have someone to leave it to. An heir, as it were.

  Which would require a wife to achieve.

  Spence had the right of it. All work did make for a dull life.

  Restlessness continued to plague him. He’d thought it would wear off in time, but it hadn’t. Something was missing. Perhaps it had always been missing, but now, with the knowledge of how fleeting life could be, Marcus could not shake the need to do something about it. To loosen the tightly held control he had on every aspect of his regimented life and do the unthinkable.

  Take a risk.

  A ripple of unease settled over him. He did not take risk lightly. Unlike Spence and Nick who flung themselves into things with little forethought or planning, Marcus did not have that luxury. Circumstances changed without notice. One minute you had love and security and the next—

  Well, the next you stared into the dark abyss of what Fate could do.

  Marcus toyed with the idea of marriage and children and considered what it would take to achieve such an end as the carriage conveyed them to the Sheridans’ home. His thoughts sustained him through the chatter created as Lady Rebecca and her mother conversed with Spence over the goings on at Lady Perth’s tea the day before. He held his tongue, as he often did when he had nothing of value to contribute to the conversation.

  To be certain, he should be able to provide said wife with a comfortable home, perhaps a small townhouse within the city during the Season in the event she wished to partake in any parties and events as ladies often did, and a country estate during the rest of the year.

  Such as Northill.

  He shook his head. No. He would not accept the duke’s charity or assist the man in retaliation for his wife’s transgressions.

  Still…it was a lovely property. One he was fairly familiar with given its proximity to Lakefield Abbey, where he had spent many a summer growing up. Estates such as Northill did not grow on trees. He supposed he could let such a property, but the idea held no appeal. He craved ownership. Permanence. Something of his own that could not be taken away.

  “You have been very quiet, Marcus.”

  Lady Rebecca’s clear voice cut across the space separating them as the carriage stopped at the entrance to the Pavilion inside of Covent Garden. She had referred to him by his given name for as far back as he could remember; save for when her father had been present, when she reverted to the more formal use of Mr. Bowen.

  He preferred the former, though the latter was safer. Less likely to blur the line between them. A line he should never have crossed. Wouldn’t again.

  He glanced at her, her stark beauty striking him as it often did. No wonder Nick wanted both he and Spence to watch over her. He could well imagine any number of suitors dogged her well-shod heels at every step. Whether she noticed them or not, he preferred not to think on.

  “Forgive me,” he answered, though offered nothing more and avoided looking directly at her. The pure silver of her eyes had the power to mesmerize, and one did foolish things when under such a spell.

  “You are forgiven.” Her voice held a sweetness to it and he took a deep breath, as if he could breath it in, hold it within him. “It is nice to find a gentleman who does not feel the need to pollute the air with nonsense.”

  “Is it?” Spence said. “I find it annoying, myself. Leaves the rest of us to pick up the slack. Frightfully rude, I think.”

  Lady Blackbourne laughed. “Huntsleigh, I doubt you require any assistance in holding up your end of the conversation. Besides, I suspect Mr. Bowen needs to brace himself before stepping into the fray.”

  Marcus swallowed. “The fray?”

  Lady Blackbourne smiled, a motion that lit eyes a shade darker than her daughter’s. “The ton has been abuzz with your heroics,” she told him. “Your absence in society has only served to stir their curiosity even more. I expect your return tonight will be quite the thing.”

  “Oh dear,” Lady Rebecca leaned forward, exposing the gentle swell of her breasts where they pushed above the bodice of her gown. “Think of it, Marcus. You shall be mentioned in the scandal sheets for certain. How exciting!”

  Her teasing was duly noted, as was his body’s unwanted reaction to her breasts. He quickly looked away. Spence’s muffled laughter mocked him. “I’m so happy to be able to provide you both with endless amusement.”

  “Somebody has to, my good man,” Spence laughed as the carriage door opened and a liveried footman set a step down in front of it.

  Marcus escaped the confines of their conveyance, though at the prospect of being the center of attention, he considered diving back in and instructing the driver to return him to Ellesmere House with all due haste. He did not care for such public accolades or attention. He had spent the past twenty-two years of his life keeping a low profile, not making waves, going unnoticed. It was better that way. If no one noticed you, they were less likely to try to disturb your life.

  Unless, of course, they were Lady Rebecca. But the fault for that could not be laid entirely at her feet, could it? He pushed the thought away.

  Spence jumped down behind him, but Marcus stayed in place to assist the ladies from the carriage. First Lady Blackbourne, then her daughter. As Lady Rebecca’s gloved hand slid into his, she gripped him harder than necessary and leaned in, bringing her lips shockingly close to his ear. Her heady scent overpowered his senses. Not the sweet scent of flowers as one might expect, but something wilder. Spicy. Elemental.

  And in that moment, time peeled away and returned him to Sheridan Park, where he stood in the moonlight, holding her in his arms as she cried silent tears into his shoulder.

  “Marcus,” she whispered, her voice silk. Just as she had then. He braced himself against the warmth her closeness spread through him as her breath brushed his skin. “I must speak with you.”

  “Now?”

  “No.” She leaned away and gave him a plaintive, imploring look. Warning bells went off somewhere in the recesses of his mind and while he heard them, he paid them little heed. Her gaze held him captive. “Later. It is of utmost importance, however.”

  He fought against the pull she had over him.

  “I can come by the house tomorrow, if that is convenient?”

  She shook her head. A thick, inky black curl bounced against the delicate curve of her cheekbone. “No, it must be this evening. After the first dance, come and find me. Claim I appea
r overheated and should get some air. We can step out onto the terrace where we will have some privacy.”

  Privacy? He did not like the sound of that. There was no reason in the world Lady Rebecca should require a private audience with him and no grounds for him to grant it. The last time they met in private, regardless how inadvertent it had been, it had resulted in a kiss. A kiss that nearly one year later he could not forget. A kiss that had affected him so deeply, he could close his eyes and recollect every second of it—the taste, feel, sensation. The longing it created. The need.

  If he had been a less than honorable man he’d have—

  He shook his head. It mattered not. He was an honorable man, though not enough of one that he’d told her brother what had transpired. Honorable did not equate to stupid.

  And yet, as she requested a private audience with him this night, he did not refuse her. Could not. Curiosity stalked him like a dangerous animal after its prey.

  “Come, you two,” Lady Blackbourne called over her shoulder as she took Spence’s arm and led the way. Lady Rebecca looped her arm through his.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, though he did not recall having answered her out loud. Any hope he’d had of avoiding her this night drifted away on the light breeze that followed them into the Pavilion.

  The crush of lords and ladies attending Lord Berringsford’s fiftieth birthday celebrations reminded Marcus of a stampede of swine rushing to the trough. It would not be difficult to convince anyone Lady Rebecca appeared overheated, as already warmth rose up from his starched collar and he longed to escape to the gardens if only to relieve himself of the cacophony of voices that reverberated throughout the room.

  The wait proved interminable. Lord Rankin had claimed the first dance with Lady Rebecca while Spence took a turn with Lady Blackbourne, leaving Marcus to stand near a potted plant by the wall, sipping a sickly sweet drink that set his teeth on edge. Or perhaps it was Lady Rebecca’s request that had done that.

  His mind conjured up any number of topics that required such subterfuge on her part but rejected each one in short order. By the time he spied Lord Selward winding his way through the crowd, he was no closer to a conclusion than when he started.

  The object of Lady Rebecca’s affections stopped briefly to speak to a few of the older ladies sitting in chairs lining the edge of the dance floor before he moved on. Marcus continued to watch him. The man did nothing out of the ordinary, nothing irksome or inappropriate. As always, the young lord comported himself much as any gentleman would. He chatted with a few lords, paid attention to several ladies, though within the bounds of what was considered proper, and continued on his way around the room.

  Marcus lost sight of him until Selward reappeared around the other side of the room. He had picked up company along the way. Lady Susan had attached herself to his arm. The duke’s daughter strutted past the dancers, paying more attention to being seen than whom she was with, though if Lord Selward noticed, Marcus could not tell. The couple slowed when they reached the foursome that included Lady Rebecca. Lady Susan lifted her upturned nose a little higher and her mouth pulled into a smirk of satisfaction. Not a flattering look for her.

  Marcus’s attention left the couple to see if Lady Rebecca had noticed. Based on the desperation written across her lovely face, she had. He scowled in Selward’s direction though the man paid him no more attention than the potted plant he stood next to.

  Lady Rebecca’s feelings for the future earl left him unsettled and he cursed Nick for impregnating his wife and remaining at Sheridan Park for the Season. He did not appreciate being cast in the role of Lady Rebecca’s protector.

  Who was to protect her from him?

  He bit down on the thought as the music ended. With a flick of his wrist, he dumped the contents of his glass into the potted plant, tossed it onto a nearby table and hurried to claim Lady Rebecca before any of the other gentlemen hovering near the edges could intercept.

  Rebecca clung to Marcus’s arm to hurry him along. Her nerves zipped around inside of her like a loose bolt of lightning. Every second wasted was a second stolen from implementing her plan. A plan that must be put into place immediately. Lady Susan had made her intentions clear when she pranced around the outskirts of the dance floor on Lord Selward’s arm.

  Oh, the frustration of it all—to work so hard for a proposal her heart dreaded!

  She led Marcus out onto the terrace. It allowed a lovely view of the lit gardens below. Not that she particularly cared what the gardens looked like at the moment. The only thing she cared about was convincing Marcus to assist her in her endeavor. Somewhat of a Herculean task, given he was not the type to partake in such tomfooleries and, it seemed, had made an acute study of avoiding her company whenever possible. Truthfully, she did not wish to involve him. The idea he would help her capture the attentions of another man smacked of hypocrisy, but whom else could she trust in such a matter? No one.

  Her brother had entrusted Marcus with the role of protector in his absence. Nick trusted him beyond a doubt and being the type of man Marcus was, he did not shirk his responsibilities. She hoped to call upon this sense of honor now. After all, he had saved her life once before. Surely she could convince him to do it again.

  She smiled at the memory. As a young girl, Marcus’s stoic demeanor played upon her imagination until she had conjured up any number of daydreams about his past. She had made him a pirate king, then a knight fallen upon hard times, and once, even the long lost heir to a duchy.

  Such silly nonsense. Marcus was, in truth, the son of servants, caretakers to Braemore Manor, one of Lord Ellesmere’s Cornwall properties. A fact her father had made abundantly clear when she had revealed to him her childish fantasies. Father’s tirade had lasted for a full hour, during which he had harped about her duty to choose a proper husband, one befitting her station and her family’s good name. Had that been the impetus for the constraints he’d placed in his will, ensuring she marry a titled gentleman such as Lord Selward or risk losing everything?

  It hardly mattered now, and as it turned out, Marcus was not a pirate king. Nor a downtrodden knight or lost duke. He was just a man. A man who had given her the first and only kiss she’d ever received, behind the marble statue of Athena in the gardens of Sheridan Park.

  He’d been mortified by his behavior afterward, despite her insistence she was equally to blame. She had been despondent over Father’s death, guilty that Nicholas had been given only the entailed properties attached to the title and stunned to learn her father had kept a lover for the past ten years. She feared what her future held and she had sought comfort in the solitude of the garden, only to realize the empty moonlit night offered her no comfort at all.

  But Marcus had. He’d wrapped her in the safety of his arms when he found her crying and whispered that everything would be fine. And she had believed him. Reveled in the safety of his embrace. Let his strength console her. When he pressed his cheek to her temple, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to lift her gaze, to touch her lips to his. To kiss him.

  Her blood heated at the remembrance of that moment. Of being swept away.

  The crash back to earth when Marcus had come to his senses had been most unwelcome.

  She set the memory aside. The past was the past. She could not relive it, recapture it, or change it. She simply had to soldier on with the cards now dealt her. Cards she needed Marcus’s help to turn into a winning hand. She clasped her hands together in front of her bodice. “Promise me you will hear me out before you give me your answer.”

  What she asked bordered on the edge of impropriety and, in all likelihood, went against every sensible bone in Marcus’s body. She would have her work cut out for her to convince him to help.

  “Very well. I will hear you out.” He held his hands behind his back and stood unmoving in front of her. The stance showed off the breadth of his shoulders and chest and for a moment, it took her away from her intended speech. He was a study in lean,
hard angles, his stillness reminiscent of the marble statues populating Sheridan Park’s gardens where they had shared their kiss.

  A slight breeze drifted past them and ruffled his dark hair, turning him into the pirate king of daydreams past. Despite his buttoned-up demeanor, he possessed a certain wildness. Nothing obvious, one had to look beneath the surface to see it. He kept it tightly battened down, but it was there, in a glance or a movement. In his kiss. What would happen if he gave it free reign once more? She quickly shook off the thought away, reminding herself of what happened to cat when it attempted to sate its curiosity. Better she not meet the same fate.

  “As you may know, Lord Selward and I have been courting.”

  Marcus raised one eyebrow. “You have?”

  He truly had the loveliest eyes. The color of dark chocolate. Warm and trustworthy, yet with a hint of mystery lingering in their depths. Unfathomable eyes that rested their gaze upon her without flinching. A fluttering teased her stomach. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “Yes. Well, somewhat.”

  “I see.” He straightened to his full height that matched her brother’s six feet. Tall enough for her to tuck comfortably beneath his chin.

  “The thing is, while I was in mourning after Father’s passing, Lady Susan used my absence in society to worm her way into Lord Selward’s affections, leaving him torn.”

  “Torn?”

  “Between the two of us.”

  “I see,” he repeated. In those two words she heard the ones he did not speak. That Lord Selward lacked the passion to be torn between anything, let alone two women. An observation she could not refute, but that was neither here nor there. “And you believe it is affection he feels for Lady Susan?”

  “Perhaps affection is too strong a word. I can’t imagine someone feeling more affection for her than they would a scorpion about to strike. But the fact remains she is the daughter of a duke—”