Four Times The Temptation (The Northumberland Nine Series Book 4) Read online

  Luc willed himself not to stare at her, but it was hard. The sea breeze teased her hair, blowing little wisps into her mouth. She kept dragging them away, and then she would lick her lips. Her lips shone like sun-kissed raspberries, wet with morning dew. Plump, juicy… Christ. He wanted to touch them just with his fingertips—but not his lips.

  He swore under his breath.

  He focused on his steps, his boots sliding in the sandy path, her hand tucked tightly in his. They reached the bottom and she smiled her thanks. She brushed her hair from her face with a sandy glove, leaving little specks of sand that sparkled like facets of diamonds on her cheek. He clenched his fist.

  I will not brush them away. I will not brush them away. I will not brush them away.

  He brushed his own cheek. “You have a bit of sand just there,” he said.

  “Oh, thank you.” She wiped it away. “I wonder where Georgie got off to?” she asked.

  “Hmm,” He thought about that. Georgie. Quite an unusual name for a girl. It fit her. Georgie rather than Georgette. And he heard Georgie call her Jeanie rather than Jeanette.

  “Do you all have nicknames?” he asked.

  She twisted her mouth and he committed the sight to memory. It was such a whimsical expression. Her eyes cut to the side, and then her top teeth dragged in the corner of her lip.

  He winced as desire stabbed at him. She did that a lot, was it a sign of her shyness? Thankfully, she wasn’t looking at him. His blood heated. God, she was beautiful. The most gorgeous women of the ton could not compare to her. When he completed her portrait, no one would ever see it, and it was a bloody shame. He really must get this conversation over with while everyone else was busy combing the sand for shells and what not.

  “Only my father and acquaintances call us by our full names. We use shortened versions because that's what we prefer. We’ve suffered under enough ridicule as it is.”

  “Ridicule?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, nine girls, after all, seems quite amusing to most, and then when they learn our names all end in ‘ette’ it only adds to the humiliation.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That's not right or very kind.”

  “But that is the way things are, unfortunately.”

  She looked toward the water, a line appearing between her brows. He wanted to touch her, to turn her chin with one finger, so that her gaze met his again.

  In the haze of the sun-soaked beach, her eyes had taken on a different color, as if they picked up the light reflecting off the water. Or perhaps it was the sun itself, but the brown appeared more golden. The eyes are the windows to the soul, they say, so he glanced away. He did not want her to see him now for what he was, behind the mask. He took a deep breath of clean, salty air.

  “How refreshing to live by the ocean,” he said, glancing at her. “Is it possible to tire of it, living near it for all of one's life?” Why was he stalling?

  She smiled. “Never. It's always changing. Sometimes it's serene, sparkling, like it is now and there's always something new to find.” She inspected the ground near them, bending over to pick up a small lavender-colored shell.

  “See? I've never seen this color.” She presented it to him.

  He took it, turning it over in his gloved hand. “What a lovely shade. I wonder if I could replicate it?”

  She glanced up at him. “Replicate it?”

  “Er, I mean, if I could find a fabric of a similar color. It will make a stunning waistcoat.”

  She cocked her head. “It would, wouldn’t it? It would make a pretty dress too.” She smiled.

  He smiled. “I’m a bit of a dandy if you haven't noticed.

  “Oh no,” she laughed. “I've seen pictures of dandies in the paper. You are nothing like a dandy. Far more elegant though still fashionable.”

  “Why thank you,” he bowed. She was talking easily with him, but he’d never felt more awkward and clumsy. He must get this over with. She had to be wondering why he’d kissed her. He knew he would if he were in her position.

  “I must beg your forgiveness,” he said, his throat as dry as sand. He directed them away from the others, where the crashing of the waves would mask their words.

  “Oh?” The tenor of her voice changed.

  “The last time we spoke I… I took advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

  She frowned, shading her eyes as she surveyed the water. “We danced.”

  “And I kissed you.”

  He could see the color rising up her cheeks like a sunrise. “I don’t regret the dance or the kiss, but it was wrong of me to put you in such a position, and then leave the party so suddenly without explanation.”

  She hugged herself, and for a split second, he thought she might cry.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a rake and you’re a beautiful young woman. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your naivete. Trust it will not happen again. I’d like for you to consider me a friend.” He wanted it to be clear, without specifically saying so, that she should not expect any lasting promises from him. He couldn’t give her that as hollow as it made him feel.

  His heart pounded as he waited for her to respond.

  Her lips trembled and then she smiled.

  He exhaled with relief.

  “I’m not in the position to turn down an offer of friendship, my lord.”

  She giggled and her giggle danced along his nerves and straight into his heart.

  Was that it? Perhaps he’d read her wrong, and she wasn’t on the verge of falling madly in love with him, believing him to be her knight in shining armor.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I was afraid coming back here would be awkward.”

  She scoffed. “Oh its hasn’t been awkward at all.”

  Her sarcasm caught him off guard, and he couldn’t stop a bark of laughter.

  She covered her face, but she was laughing as well. She held her middle and tipped her head back, face tilted up to the sun as her laughter spilled out.

  After a moment, they both quieted and she dabbed at her eyes.

  “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

  “Me neither,” he replied, and his side ached.

  He sucked in a breath and hoped that now they could move on, and it would no longer be so awkward between them. But then he looked at her, her face flushed, her eyes glittery, and he knew he’d never be comfortable in her presence.

  He wanted her too much.

  “Do you like fashion?” he asked abruptly. “I know you favor London.”

  She bit her lip again, looking down.

  “I suppose so, but it was born out of need rather than hobby.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I do a lot of sewing for my sisters.”

  “Is that so?” He clasped his hands behind his back, thinking of the missing button on his coat. Perhaps he ought to learn to sew.

  “That seems an invaluable skill,” he said.

  “It is indeed. Very satisfying too. We all have our roles in the family and mine is the seamstress. Gowns taken in, gowns taken out, gloves mended. Those sorts of things. None of it’s very exciting, unlike the tasks Georgie gets to do, but I don’t think I’d want to do them. She has a knack for working with animals while I… I suppose I have a knack for working with needle and thread.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Georgie is rather unique, what sort of tasks does she do?”

  Jeanie bit her lip and looked over his shoulder.

  Luc glanced back. Cage and Georgie were speaking to each other, and it did not look like a pleasant conversation.

  “I suppose you could say Georgie does what my father would normally do were he home to do it,” she said. "She tends to the livestock. She also does the hunting and keeps the meat stores stocked, especially during the winter."

  Luc was careful not to show any sort of expression as she said this. Those were all fairly masculine tasks. Though not completely unheard of in rural communities, for the daughter of a landed gentleman, e
ven untitled, it was not exactly desirable. Especially if she intended to marry above her station.

  "Interesting," he said. "And what of your other sisters, Miss Annette, Miss Bernadette?"

  She smiled, her gaze bouncing to the two sisters mentioned. "Well, Anne is like a second mother to all of us. She's gone above and beyond the role of sister, and I cannot begin to describe how much she means to all of us. As for Bernie, for all her wild ways, she is like the second-in-command, not to say that my mother doesn't have a role but a large family is a burden shared amongst everyone. Now Josie, she's our resident librarian, professor, and historian." She paused and smiled. "You know what my duty is to my family. Luna is the dreamer, but she is a fair hand at penmanship and cooking. She helps the dowager duchess on a regular basis, and the duchess will post letters for us. Nicolette and Odette, the twins, keep the garden flourishing and they have lovely voices. They will perform lovely duets in the evenings for us. Willa is the youngest and by far has had it the easiest." She laughed. "But is not a life of leisure for any of us. She helps anyone one of us when needed. We all help keep the house neat. I'm sure you can imagine laundry for nine women is quite an ordeal."

  He grinned. "Oh, I can only imagine."

  She tucked her chin to her chest, but her smile grew broader. "You have no idea how much I loathe washing sheets."

  He chuckled.

  She frowned, looking past him again and he turned. Miss Georgette and Mr. Cage were really putting on quite a scene, though their words could not be heard above the gentle roar of the waves.

  “I should go check on her,” Jeanie said. "Out of all of us, she is the least tame." She gasped. "I shouldn't have said that."

  He chuckled some more. "I could say the same for my brother, though he is twelve so I suppose that is his reasoning."

  "I'd love to hear more about your family, but I suspect she needs me to intervene. Do excuse me."

  Luc nodded. "Of course."

  She rushed to her sister’s side. And Luc tried not to be obvious about watching them. But watching her interact with her sisters was better than any play. The love and devotion between them was so palpable one could reach out and touch it. And if it was a physical thing, he imagined it would be soft and light like a piece of cotton pulled right from the stem or a wisp from a dandelion.

  Miss Jeanette extricated her sister from Mr. Cage, and Luc wondered what exactly was brewing between the two. And much to his surprise, she returned to him. He wanted to kick his own shin for the sheer pleasure that gave him. He nodded in acknowledgment of Miss Georgette.

  He got the feeling a little teasing would be warranted and would soften her barriers toward him. It only took one glance to know she was made of stern stuff and would appreciate humor.

  "I hope Cage is behaving himself," he said. "If he's not, I do apologize, and I will happily blacken his eye."

  Georgie smiled. "’Tis not necessary, Lord Luckfeld. If it was, I assure you I can do it myself."

  It was time for the party to return to the castle and move on to their next entertainment. This time, Georgie allowed him to escort her up the bluff. Miss Jeanette went ahead of them and as she climbed, the swaying of her hips distracted him. He slipped on more than one occasion and apologized profusely to Miss Georgette, who was just ahead of him and more help to him than he was to her.

  They returned to the house, and it was decided they would all go for a ride. But the only thing Luc wanted to do was grab his sketchbook and find a quiet place to detail everything he learned about her face, every expression, every twitch of her brow and her lips before he forgot it. He was about to make excuses so he might do that very thing when he heard her mention she would also abstain. The duchess, Violet, nodded in understanding and he overheard her response.

  "Are you sure? I can promise it will be an easy ride, nothing requiring great skill. I can also order a cart be hitched and you can be driven by a groom."

  Miss Jeanette shook her head. "I'd really rather stay but do enjoy yourselves. I know Georgie has been looking forward to this."

  Violet smiled. "I'll tell Mrs. Kemp to brew a fresh pot and her best biscuits."

  "Now that I would enjoy," she said.

  Luc backed away and made his excuses to Weirick.

  Weirick raised a brow. "Are you certain? I've got three of my best hunters itching to go full bore."

  "As much as it would amuse me to nearly break my neck, I'd rather work on that thing we discussed."

  "Ah," Weirick said. "Your muse has taken hold of you. I understand."

  His muse. That was exactly it. Weirick didn't know how inspiring his muse was and now they'd be in the castle alone. Except they weren’t really alone. There were over a hundred servants around.

  “Right. The beach gave me some ideas, and I’d rather put them down on paper before the spirit leaves me.”

  Weirick chuckled. “You artist types amuse me.”

  Luc stilled.

  Artist type?

  No one had ever dared call him an artist. The old viscount considered it a swear word. To him, artists were lazy bastards who preyed on the wealthy, seducing wives, and cuckolding husbands.

  To an extent he’d been right, and he’d never let Luc forget it for a day.

  “You may have been born within the bounds of marriage, but you will always be a bastard to me. You are not worthy of my title.”

  Luc tugged at his cravat and buried those memories deep.

  He could still hear the deafening rip of the paper as the viscount had shredded his first attempts at drawing, spitting on the pieces.

  “Well, I appreciate your silence on the matter,” he said to Weirick.

  “We’ve all got deep secrets,” Weirick replied, sobering.

  Luc nodded and swallowed. The crowd departed and he made his way toward the tower room. The mood had changed. The castle was silent, and those memories were close to the surface. He tried to push them down further by thinking of Miss Jeanette. He stopped at the door to his room and closed his eyes. He envisioned her, the sea breeze rustling her raven curls.

  He clenched his fist. He had to capture it before he lost it.

  He rushed to gather his supplies, pencils, sketching paper, easel, charcoal, and he bundled them all under his arm and headed to the tower.

  Chapter 5

  Jeanie gladly accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Kemp and a plate of biscuits.

  She sighed, leaning back against the sofa and trying to enjoy the peace. But her thoughts raced. Somewhere in the castle was Lord Luckfeld. She relived that awful moment on the beach, when he’d excused his reason for kissing her as nothing more than being a rake.

  Her gut had twisted so hard, her hopes sinking into the damp sand she’d stood in.

  And then he’d offered her his friendship.

  She’d been on the verge of tears when, suddenly, giggles emerged.

  There may have been a sob of anguish in there somewhere, but the laughter had saved her from falling apart right there in front of him.

  Friendship.

  Fine. But it would take more than her agreement to be friends to stop the yearning of her foolish heart. The kiss had meant something to her. But evidently not him.

  Further proof that she didn’t know what she was doing here with a sophisticated gentleman like him and the others.

  She wasn’t going to forget that kiss or what she saw in the tower.

  So, what was her new friend doing this moment?

  She’d overheard him decline the ride. Where was he?

  She thought of the tower. He’d spoken closely with the duke, Weirick. Did he know what Lord Luckfeld was doing in the tower?

  Jeanie didn’t know. There’d been so little to go on. Only a chaise lounge and the candelabra.

  She set down her cup and took a bite of a butter biscuit. She peered around the drawing room. Without any other guests present, the room was rather large and she felt insignificant in it. Would it offend Mrs. Kemp if she left? She’d rat
her find someplace less imposing—no, that wasn’t true. What she wanted to do was be left to her own devices to investigate what Lord Luckfeld might be doing and if he was in the tower.

  She set down her half eaten biscuit and stood, stretching and yawning. “Perhaps I’ll take a nap,” she muttered to herself. But was it too early for that? Would anyone believe her? She glanced down at the tea set. How wasteful to leave a full pot and plate of biscuits to sit.

  At the very least, she couldn’t do that.

  She rang for a maid and Mrs. Kemp returned promptly.

  Jeanie hesitated. “I’m afraid I did not sleep well. I’m not used to such a large bed, you see.”

  Mrs. Kemp nodded.

  “I think I will try to take a nap so I can be refreshed when everyone returns.”

  “Certainly, Miss Marsden. And if you have trouble sleeping tonight, do let me know and I can make you something to help.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Kemp. I will.”

  Mrs. Kemp took the tea and biscuits away.

  Jeanie went in the direction of her room then segued toward the rear of the guest wing where she’d gone last night.

  She tiptoed up the stairs, down the gallery, and paused as the stone stairs to the tower were in sight. No one was around. Even in the cavernous echoing halls of this old castle, she couldn’t hear the scuff or murmur of another person. She inched forward carefully until she reached the foot of the steps. She exhaled slowly and lifted her skirts as she climbed. When she reached the door it was partially closed, but a sliver of light shined through. She edged closer, holding her breath, and from inside the room she could hear a faint scratching sound. She frowned, leaning in, squinting as she peeked through the crack. His back was to her, and his arm moved swiftly over something. He’d removed his coat and waistcoat. As he moved his elbow, she could see his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. His shirt was so fine it was almost transparent. The muscles of his back shifted underneath and her mouth went dry. He was hunched over, but he appeared so strong, so capable even though he was sitting, unaware of being watched.