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

  "What the devil?"

  Miss Jeanette stood at his side. "I think he was hit by the kite," she said. They rushed over, along with everyone else, and crowded around Mr. Cage.

  Luc had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling as Cage sat on his arse with a scowl so fierce he ought to frighten these young women away. But there was Miss Georgette, fussing over him and not the least bit frightened.

  "Do you think he's hurt?" Miss Jeanette asked.

  "Only his pride," Luc said. They looked at each other sideways. Her lips twitched and he knew she wanted to laugh.

  Their kite had managed to remain in the sky, but it seemed the kite flying adventure was over. He took the spool from her and began to wind it, fighting the line as if he was reeling in a great fish. Once the kite was successfully tucked under his arm, he offered his free arm and they walked back to the house.

  “I never knew kite flying could be so adventurous,” she said.

  “You should try flying a kite with a twelve-year-old boy. Adventure doesn't even begin to describe it.”

  "Did you fly kites in Hyde Park?" she asked.

  “Yes that is where my brother and I would fly our kite."

  "And how it does it compare to flying kites here in Northumberland?"

  Luc tossed a glance over his shoulder. "It is vastly more exciting, given the type of wind that comes over the bluff. A point for Northumberland, I'd say."

  They reached the castle and Violet announced they would have a luncheon in the conservatory. Until then, people could do as they wished. Luc immediately thought about going up to the tower and sketching his new observations of her face.

  "Tell me, what other diversions do you think Northumberland offers that a lady such as myself would not be able to experience in London?" she asked

  He considered her. What was she asking, exactly? She wanted more excitement? But he couldn't read her thoughts or maybe she had no underlying agenda, unlike most of the women he knew. She just had innocent curiosity.

  "Well, it all depends on what you're interested in. Many of the same things can be found. I could re-create just about anything for you, expert as I am."

  She chewed the corner of her lip.

  "But what is something I could not do that I can do here?"

  He raised a brow. "That you could not do in London? Well, the rules are very strict for young women in society. You might find it rather suffocating compared to your life here." He could see her absorbing his words.

  She glanced down, her fingers fluttering on his forearm.

  "Billiards?"

  "Billiards?" he repeated. Why billiards?

  "Yes, it's something I've always wanted to learn, but I don't have the same friendship that Bernie has with Chester and Roderick. I've never been brave enough to ask. But if you could show me…since we’re friends."

  Show her. The possibilities of those words spread heat throughout his body, circulating through his limbs and pooling in his groin. He reined it in.

  "You'd like a lesson in billiards?"

  "I'm sure I'm not the only one. My sisters might be curious as well. If not now, here, then when?"

  He swallowed. "I'm sure an innocent little game of billiards can be arranged. But we have to be careful. I don't think the duchess would want you to develop any bad habits. One day you might have a chance to enter society, and the women of London stay far from the billiard room."

  "Are women not allowed there?"

  "I call it an unwritten rule. It's the lair of seedy gentleman like myself."

  She laughed and he wished he was only teasing, but the truth was he was a rake and he had a reputation, and if he was not careful, he could destroy hers. He’d already kissed her once. But nor could he resist the chance to see her in a golden glow of the lantern lights, smoky air, leaning over the green felt and wrapping her hands around the cue stick.

  He averted those thoughts quickly. For the sake of his art—Christ, he really was an artist, wasn't he? He was going to do it. He was going to show her how to play billiards just so he could see her in that new environment and know that much more about her. But he'd protect her at all costs, and in order to do that, he would need other people to be present. He could not be alone with her.

  He did not trust himself.

  Not anymore.

  Chapter 7

  The secret billiard game was arranged for the following evening. Bernie had agreed to come to supervise, she said. And Georgie was also willing. Jeanie had considered asking Josie, but before she could even ask, Josie had declared her intent to read for the evening in the library.

  They'd spent an hour and a half in the drawing room playing card games after dinner, and now Jeanie waited in her room for Bernie to fetch her. There was a soft scratching on her door, and Jeanie leapt to her feet from her bed. She opened the door a crack, and there stood Bernie.

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" Bernie asked.

  Jeanie’s nerves danced a merry tune as she slipped out of her room and closed her door softly. They scurried silently through the darkened house and down one floor to where the billiard room was. The door was open and Jeanie could hear the gentlemen inside. Her heart raced. This was probably the most illicit thing she'd ever done.

  How boring her life had been. But now she was going to learn to play billiards with a handsome gentleman. And it was a delicious secret.

  They entered the room, Bernie leading the charge with the confidence Jeanie wished she could have. The gentlemen, Lord Luckfeld, Mr. Cage, Lord Selhorst, and Mr. Seyburn, greeted them.

  "Good evening," Lord Luckfeld said.

  "Good evening to you," Bernie replied.

  Jeanie hadn't yet found her voice.

  They were offered drinks from bottles of dark liquid, but Jeanie abstained. Her stomach was already filled with butterflies, and she didn't want to add fire to it. Lord Luckfeld came to her side and lightly patted her hand as it rested on the edge of the billiard table.

  "You needn't be nervous," he said.

  "I'm not used to breaking rules," Jeanie said. She swallowed. He seemed different from earlier, the shadows of the billiard room giving him a mysterious air. She could certainly believe he was a rake. He was in his element here, doing things he should not be doing with a woman like her. She tried not to think about that. How many women had he taught billiards? How many women has he lured from the safety of their chaperones?

  She shouldn’t think about such things. It wasn't her business, and it wasn't as if…she meant anything to him. He’d been very nice to her, but there was nothing in his behavior that indicated he cared for her in a romantic fashion.

  "Well, don't concern yourself with the rules overmuch. We are here to have fun. So why don't we play a game?" He peered around the room, gathering the interest of the other gentlemen.

  They set up the table and explained the game to her and her sisters. Bernie had played before, and as the game started it became clear that Bernie was rather good. After a simple game to learn all the rules and get a feel for using the cue sticks, they set up another game.

  "Miss Jeanette will be my partner," Lord Luckfeld said.

  "Against Mr. Seyburn and I," Georgie countered.

  They began a game, and much to Jeanie's delight, she wasn't terrible. She managed to get a ball in the pocket two times on her own. But the best part of the entire game was Lord Luckfeld's solid attention. The little touches to her arm as he directed her how to make a shot, his sly smile when she succeeded in getting the ball in or close to the pocket.

  Her skin felt alive, tingling from head to toe. Just the touch of his gaze stirred something inside her, an unusual warmth that spread from her chest into her arms and to her lips. Nothing had ever made her feel this way.

  Well, there was one experience that was close to it. The dowager duchess had once invited them all to dinner, and it was the first time Jeanie had tasted wine. She couldn’t remember her age, maybe seventeen, and she drank two glasses before she felt any
thing unusual.

  She hadn’t stopped giggling and her skin had felt warm, her stomach aflutter.

  This was almost like that same sensation. Was she feverish? She discreetly touched her hand to her brow. She couldn't tell. She just knew she felt different. Georgie and Mr. Seyburn won the game, which was a surprise but Jeanie enjoyed herself all the same.

  “Better luck next time,” Lord Luckfeld said, his smile warm, setting off another flurry of butterflies in her chest.

  “Thank you, my lord. Not too shabby for my first time.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, “but there's lots of room for improvement. Here let me show you."

  The others chatted, not watching her and Lord Luckfeld. He handed her the billiard stick.

  “Here. Lean over the table like this,” he directed. “Place your hand here and lift your elbow like this.”

  She did as he instructed.

  “More. Like this.” He set his hands on her, stepping closer behind her, his arm coming around her to hold her elbow.

  “Keep your finger loose so the stick slides like this.” He demonstrated.

  The fine hairs on her arm stood up. Luckily, she was wearing long sleeves so he couldn't see. Heat spread through her body, and a curious tingle tugged low between her thighs. She sucked in a breath, not knowing what to do.

  He let go of her hand on the cue stick and reached past her, grabbing a ball to move it closer. His chest brushed her back. It was almost like the embrace from yesterday except so much longer and much more intentional.

  Was this flirting?

  Was it something more?

  Was this his way of expressing an interest in her, showing that he was attracted to her?

  She licked her lips, her mouth dry, her tongue feeling heavy and clumsy. He placed his hand back on hers.

  “Like this, slide, slide, and strike.”

  She knocked the ball into the corner pocket, and then a shadow appeared in the doorway. Luckfeld let go of her, stepping away. Everyone froze, guiltily, Jeanie would say. But only because she felt immensely guilty. Bernie immediately defended their actions to Roderick, who stood with his arms folded like a disappointed governess. Jeanie bit her tongue, her gaze briefly meeting Luckfeld's. The ladies followed Roderick into the hall after the gentlemen bid them goodnight,

  What would happen now?

  They were all ushered off to bed, but once back in her room, Jeanie couldn't sleep, her mind spinning with possibilities and questions. Nothing more was said to her about being caught in a billiard room.

  They hadn’t been alone.

  Nothing untoward had happened. It was a bit naughty yes, but nothing that would result in scandal or dare she think it, marriage. The whole evening was rather innocent compared to the things she read about in the tabloids.

  But what wasn't so innocent were her own feelings, and the way he made her feel with his wicked smiles. No man had ever looked at her like that. No man had affected her like this, but she was burning up from the inside. Strange urges pushing her to do something wanton, and it was all so tempting to just give in. If she believed all the warnings, the desperate precautions uttered to all girls growing up, the dangers of rakes, of men in general, then she would heed them.

  But what if it led to love?

  What if it led to something more than she could ever dream, and the only way to find out was to give in to temptation?

  Chapter 8

  Luc sat in the circle of light around the candelabra, furiously sketching her likeness. She leaned over the table, a coy smile on her lips, but instead of the prim blue dress she'd worn that night in the billiard room, she wore something else. An evening gown, the back loose from his expert fingers, the shoulder falling down her arm, revealing a creamy swell of her breast. He gripped the charcoal tightly as he filled in the curls and swirls of her hair falling over her shoulder. He scratched in the fine hairs of her eyebrows, one slightly raised in challenge or was it temptation? Urging him, daring him to come closer to her.

  His hand swiftly moved over the paper, coloring in the shadows beneath her jaw and clavicle, the lush valley between her breasts.

  He paused, his breathing heavy as he used his fingers to lightly smudge lines, making them less harsh and softer as her skin would be.

  Luc held the paper away from him, inspecting his progress, his gaze caressing the page as if he could reach out and touch her. It wasn't his best work, but he managed to capture something about her face and expression in her eyes. It was probably a bit more seductive than anything she'd ever done, proof that the woman on the paper was not the real Jeanie but his fantasy version of her.

  The only one he could ever have. He closed his eyes, his hand dropping to his lap.

  He could deny himself her physical presence, but the more time he spent in her company, the more the truth of his feelings hammered at his heart.

  He was in love.

  The one singular emotion he could not afford to have or indulge. Love had been his downfall before he was even born.

  But what else explained this driving need?

  Since meeting her at the first house party, he’d thought of no other woman than her. He’d been celibate since their kiss on the terrace, unable to drive her from his thoughts to enjoy another.

  These drawings and the eventual painting were his only way to express his love, to pacify his desire. But they would never be enough. They would never compare to the real woman. Her scent, the feel of her smooth skin, the weight of her body as she leaned against him.

  She tempted him beyond reason. Beyond rational thought.

  He opened his eyes, his fist clenched around the corner of the paper. Arousal coursed through his blood. He sighed.

  It was all for nothing.

  No matter how much he wanted her—loved her—he couldn’t marry her, couldn’t abandon the promise he’d made to his brother and sister, to himself.

  Luc rubbed his eyes, his lids gritty on the inside. He checked his timepiece. The face read a quarter after one in the morning. He needed to get to sleep if he wanted to be presentable tomorrow.

  Standing, his lower back protested the movement as he stretched the tight muscles, and then he squatted before the trunk. The hinges groaned, bemoaning its age as Luc opened the lid. The leather covering had peeled in some places but the brass fastenings were still sound, and most important of all, it locked. He put his charcoal stub in a protective pouch and placed it in the tray fixed to the top of the case. Luc slid his newest drawing on top of the others and covered them with a silk cloth. He closed the case, turning the key in the lock and slipping it into his pocket. Luc stood, raising his arms above his head and stretching again. He was about to turn and blow out the candles on the candelabra when something caught his eye. It was his own reflection in the glass windows of the tower, and for a brief second, he didn't even recognize himself. He focused on the glass, his eyes straining.

  Who was this man?

  He walked forward, the image doing the same, meeting him face-to-face. He scrutinized the wavy reflection, the crinkles at the corners of the eyes, the dark stubble along the jawline and upper lip. He stared into the eyes that appeared darker than his, black even.

  He could say this was his own personal demon staring back at him.

  He knew who it was.

  For so long he tried to deny that the face looking back at him in the mirror every day was only a polished version of the one he tried to hide. His features, his coloring, none of which resembled the old black-haired, green-eyed, barrel-chested viscount in any way. He was a near perfect replica of the man his mother claimed to love and had lain with before marrying the viscount. She’d gone to her wedding night carrying another man’s child.

  Luc had suffered for it every day. The viscount had made sure to never let him forget his sinful origins. The whole household had known the truth, but Luc was born within the bounds of marriage, and therefore he was the heir. But no one dared speak of it unless they wanted to suffer t
he wrath of the viscount. Only the viscount dared mention it, mostly in seething, spittle-ridden treats directly in Luc’s ear.

  His mother had tried to protect him, but any affection shown to him, to the obvious evidence of her betrayal, only made things worse for Luc. He’d once asked his mother why she would marry such a terrible man when she loved another, and her response was that she’d had to, for his benefit.

  Luc didn’t see how he was benefiting at all. The year he went to Harrow, at eight years old, was a godsend. He was away from the viscount, from the daily reminder that he was…not good enough to be loved. He was afforded the education of a nobleman, the heir to a title, but the viscount never let him forget how much he didn’t deserve it.

  He wanted to hate his reflection as much as the viscount had. But the truth was, he longed to meet the man who had given him this face, so handsome, so debonair. Women flocked to him allowing him to create this persona, this vision that the viscount had for once approved of and gloated over in his final years. It was the only thing the viscount had liked about him. His handsomeness, his ability to attract women, young and old. To glean invitations to every party, to charm, to seduce, to distract from the destruction. While the viscount had gambled away every coin, every credit, every value the Luckfeld name carried, Luc was in the ballroom making sure that no one noticed, that no one dare question the supremacy, the validity of the title.

  And people always saw what they wanted to believe. The greater the show Luc put on, the more the viscount tolerated him. Luc supposed that's why he did it to begin with, despite knowing the man was not his real father. He loved him in a way, and he wanted his approval. As a boy, he just wanted some small affection.