One Night of Temptation Read online

  Was he always destined to lose the people he cared most about?

  * * *

  After leaving the Wicked Duke, Hugh had returned home, where he’d overimbibed in brandy and a bit of port. He was, however, recovered in time to greet the Bishop of London when he arrived late the following morning. Tom led Bishop Howley into the vestry, where Hugh had tea and cakes waiting.

  “Good day, Mr. Tarleton,” Bishop Howley said. His expression reflected nothing so much as an unflappably even temper. In some ways, Hugh sought to model the man’s demeanor. However, the bishop was more reserved than Hugh and wasn’t known for his ability to speak in public. One might think that would have prohibited him from ascending in the clergy, but it obviously had not.

  “Welcome, Bishop Howley. You honor us with your presence.” Hugh gestured to the settee situated in front of the hearth, where a modest fire glowed. The morning had been cool, and Hugh recalled that the bishop liked to be warm. “Would you care for tea?” Hugh asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” The bishop took the seat Hugh had indicated. At a half century, Howley possessed a youthful gaze and a long, sharp nose that made one think he was aware of everything, as if he could smell what was going on.

  While Hugh took a chair angled toward the settee, Tom poured the tea, filling two cups, and handed the first to the bishop. He then gave the second to Hugh, who nodded in silent appreciation.

  “I understand you are receiving many donations this spring from the ladies of the ton,” the bishop said. “That must be a great help.”

  “Indeed it is. I can’t fault their generosity, though it would be wonderful to receive books and writing implements for the children of St. Giles.”

  “I can imagine. You do so much to ease their plight.” Howley sipped his tea, then set the cup on the low table before him. “In fact, you are so focused on others that I daresay you forget about your own needs.”

  Hugh braced himself for the inevitable, though he hadn’t expected the bishop to broach this topic so quickly. “I always put the needs of my parish before my own.”

  “Yes, you are perhaps the most selfless rector I know.” Howley looked over at Tom, who’d taken a chair on the other side of the settee. “Don’t you think it’s time Mr. Tarleton took a wife?”

  He meant to start with Tom? Hugh nearly laughed. Tom would not provide the bishop with the support he sought.

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Tom said mildly. “I’ve no experience with such matters.”

  Howley pursed his lips briefly. “Of course not.” He returned his attention to Hugh. “I have found a lovely woman for you to wed. Her husband was a rector and passed away after a brief illness. She has two small children and is the perfect helpmate. Your match would be beneficial to you both. Why don’t you come for dinner next week?” It wasn’t a question but a strong suggestion.

  How could Hugh possibly think of having dinner with a potential bride, let alone marrying her, when the only woman he could think about was Pen? Although, it wasn’t as if he was going to marry her either.

  Why not? Because he didn’t think he should? Because she was the daughter of a marquess and he was a rector? Because he loathed Society, and she was the embodiment of it?

  That wasn’t fair—she was not at all what he knew of Society. Maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance…

  Hugh spoke without thinking. “While I appreciate your concern, I have already met a woman I would like to wed.”

  Howley blinked at him. “This is good news. I am delighted you are ready to settle down with a wife. Who is she?”

  “I haven’t yet proposed.” His heart thudded a drumbeat in his chest. He’d only just decided to ask! In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d convinced himself. Yet, the more he thought of it, the more inevitable it seemed. Not just inevitable…right.

  “I am sure she’ll accept.” Howley picked up his teacup. “Any woman would be thrilled to join with you. Who’s to say you won’t ascend within the clergy as I have?”

  While that was possible, Hugh was not interested in ascension. He’d turned down a position at Oxford, something Howley had not. “I am quite content in my current position.”

  “Your humility is your finest attribute,” Howley said without a hint of admiration. The man often spoke in even tones, which made it hard to discern his emotion. Of if he even possessed emotion. “I’m glad we’ve settled that matter—and I do hope it’s settled.” Howley gave him a pointed stare. “If you aren’t betrothed in the next fortnight, I shall arrange for you to meet Mrs. Young.”

  Now Hugh had a timeframe. That was fine. If he wasn’t betrothed to Pen that very week, he likely never would be.

  What was he going to do? Call on her in Mayfair? She was already betrothed.

  He needed to think. Which he couldn’t do right now while the Bishop of London was sitting in his vestry.

  “Let us discuss the matters of your parish,” the bishop said, replacing his cup on the table.

  Hugh forced his brain to focus and managed to endure the remainder of the visitation without succumbing to the lure of thinking about Pen. But by the time Howley finally left, he was more than ready to spring into action.

  The problem was that he didn’t know what action that should be.

  Tom didn’t waste any time either. When they’d returned to the vestry to tidy up, he asked, “Were you serious about proposing marriage to someone?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Hugh was completely out of his element.

  “I’m trying to think of who it could be, but I’m afraid I don’t know.” Tom gave him a sheepish look. “I fear I should. However, the only woman who comes to mind is Lady Penelope and that seems rather absurd.”

  Did it? Hugh paused in gathering the teacups from the table. “Why is it absurd?”

  Tom straightened after picking up the tray of cakes. “You barely know her and spent just a small amount of time together. And she’s…” He closed his mouth and frowned slightly.

  “The daughter of a marquess.” Hugh took the teacups into the small room off the vestry where he’d spent the night—or much of it anyway—with Pen. After setting them on the cabinet next to the washbasin, he turned to face Tom, who’d followed him.

  “It is her, isn’t it?” Tom asked softly. “You’ve been different since she was here. If I didn’t know better, I would have said you were lovesick.”

  “And how would you know what that looks like?”

  Tom chuckled. “I don’t know about when you were at school, but it happened to all of us. We’d ‘fall in love’ with the laundresses and bedmakers or someone in town. We were all starved for female company, particularly at that age.”

  A smile stole across Hugh’s lips as he recalled his own youth at Oxford. Yes, they’d all been struck by Cupid at some point, though it wasn’t the same as this. At least it didn’t feel the same. Perhaps he should consult Eastleigh, who’d fallen in love at Oxford for real. That woman was now his wife, and Hugh had married them.

  “In any case, I hope you don’t think I’m being intrusive,” Tom said, setting the tray of cakes on the cupboard.

  “Of course not. I appreciate your counsel. To answer your question, yes, I find myself in love with Lady Penelope.” He spoke carefully as he’d always done, but inside him, there was a storm of emotion, of yearning. “I can scarcely credit it since, as you correctly pointed out, we barely know each other. Yet, I feel as if I’ve known her a very long time and that our meeting was destined to occur. All I know is that since she went home, I can’t stop thinking about her, and last night when I learned she is betrothed to a loathsome man she doesn’t wish to marry, I nearly drove to her house and kidnapped her a second time.” He still wanted to do that.

  “She wasn’t actually kidnapped—you prevented it,” Tom pointed out. He’d heard the entire story—well, almost the entire story—of that night. “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you go a
nd propose?” Tom asked.

  “I could, but since she’s already betrothed to an earl and I know it’s a marriage her parents want, I can’t imagine my suit would be welcome.”

  Tom snorted. “Isn’t she of age?”

  Hugh believed so, just as he suspected that her parents would fight her if she went against their wishes. Which brought him back to kidnapping…

  He needed to think. “I’m going for a walk.”

  An hour later, he found himself strolling in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, hoping for a glimpse of his love. Fortune smiled on him again as he caught sight of her several yards ahead walking on the footpath alongside her mother.

  His breath hitched. She wore a wide-brimmed bonnet with a pink ribbon tied smartly beneath her pert chin. Her gown was ivory with sprigs of pink flowers. A wide pink ribbon that matched the one beneath her chin encircled her rib cage beneath her breasts.

  Why on earth was he thinking of her breasts in the middle of Hyde Park?

  Because he wanted her—mind, body, soul. He wanted to claim her, possess her, shout to all of London and beyond that she belonged to him.

  He had to stop staring at her, but he was rooted to the spot, transfixed. The sun beat down on him, heating his body to an uncomfortable degree. Maybe it was due to her—stirring his desire to an insupportable height. Just when he was about to turn away, her gaze locked with his. The connection sparked straight to his very core. He found himself walking toward her and didn’t think he could stop if the hounds of hell stood between them.

  The marchioness greeted him with a smile. “Why, it’s Mr. Tarleton! How lovely to see you here today.”

  He bowed to her and then to Pen. Her gaze lingered on his, but he had no idea what she was thinking. Was she even half as happy to see him as he was her?

  “We can’t begin to thank you for rescuing our dear Penelope,” the marchioness said quietly. “She has the happiest news—she is to be wed to the Earl of Findon! You must join us for dinner tomorrow evening.” She glanced toward Pen. “Wouldn’t that be splendid, dear?”

  “I couldn’t say.” It was a small act of resistance, but Hugh imagined it might be all she had.

  “Nonsense, of course you can.” The marchioness let out a laugh that wasn’t remotely genuine. “Pardon my daughter. She is being shy, as she is wont to do.”

  Shy? That wasn’t a word he’d attribute to Pen. Guarded, perhaps, but not shy. A shy woman would not employ drastic measures to change her future. He was only sorry her plan hadn’t succeeded. She had to be devastated. He longed to speak with her privately.

  He didn’t, however, want to celebrate her betrothal to the earl. He didn’t even want to be in the same room with the man. Despite that, the chance for one more night with Pen—even a dinner amidst the Society Hugh disliked—was incredibly tempting.

  “You must come,” the marchioness persisted. “Eight o’clock.”

  Hugh wouldn’t come unless Pen wanted him to. He looked at her and saw a faint glimmer of something in her eyes. Hope surged in his chest. Even if she didn’t return his feelings and never would, he owed it to her to offer his help once more—if she wanted it.

  He smiled at the marchioness. “Thank you for your kind invitation. I would be delighted to attend.” He bowed again, first to her and then to Pen. “I look forward to seeing you, Lady Penelope.”

  She inclined her head. “I’m glad you will come,” she murmured.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Tarleton.” The marchioness ushered Pen past him.

  Hugh pivoted to watch them go. What the hell had he just agreed to? He didn’t know the first thing about attending a Society dinner. He needed help.

  Thankfully, he knew just where to get it.

  Chapter 11

  Penelope’s legs wobbled, and her heart raced as she walked away from Hugh. Seeing him today had given her a simultaneous burst of joy and despair. Right now, she wanted to cling to the joy.

  She’d never thought to see him again—her mother had declared they would no longer visit his parish, saying it was far too dangerous. She would see him again, however. Tomorrow at her engagement dinner.

  The despair began to eclipse the joy.

  It was no longer just that she was desperate not to marry Findon. She wanted Hugh.

  He was the kindest, most wonderful person she’d ever met. It was as if he’d been placed in her life to show her what she’d been missing, what she needed. Everything else about her scheme had failed—she was still marrying Findon. If not for meeting Hugh, it had been absolutely pointless.

  Which meant there had to be a reason they’d met. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel to tempt her with happiness only to snatch it away?

  “I do hope he knows how to dress,” Mother said as they continued along the path. “Ah well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Perhaps I shouldn’t have invited him, but it seemed the charitable thing to do, don’t you think?”

  “If you think so, yes,” Penelope murmured. When her mother asked for an opinion, she never really wanted to hear one that differed from hers.

  “Yes, it was,” the marchioness said definitively. “It’s the least we can do to express our gratitude.”

  Penelope wasn’t sure she could survive seeing Findon and Hugh side by side. One represented the life she’d been raised to lead, a life she didn’t want. The other was a dream she’d never known she had, a fairy tale that would never come true.

  How she wished she could walk home, but she’d never be allowed, not even with the footman. Since returning home, she wasn’t ever left alone, except to sleep. If she went to the garden, someone accompanied her. When she was out shopping or here at the park, she was with her mother and two large footmen. Thankfully, they had stayed with the barouche while Penelope and the marchioness went for a promenade.

  Lady Goodrick and Mrs. Riddings approached them. Penelope braced herself to endure a tedious conversation between them and her mother about shoes or hats or which lady had worn the worst ball gown last week.

  As Penelope worked to ignore their chatter, Lady Viola Barrett and Lady Felicity Langford came toward her. Both were sisters to dukes and had recently married untitled gentlemen. Eager for a welcome distraction, Penelope took a few steps away from her mother.

  “May I offer my congratulations on your betrothal?” Lady Felicity smiled, appearing genuinely happy for Penelope.

  It was more than she could bear. “You may, but I don’t particularly want them. My enthusiasm for the marriage is nonexistent.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt her eyes widen, and she bit the inside of her cheek. At least she’d remembered to speak softly so her mother wouldn’t overhear, not that she’d pay attention to anything but the gossip she was exchanging with her friends.

  Lady Felicity exchanged a look with Lady Viola, and when she returned her gaze to Penelope, there wasn’t a shred of pity, for which Penelope was extremely grateful. Instead, she looked at Penelope with something akin to encouragement.

  “Well,” Lady Viola said, “if you’d like advice on how to leave your betrothed at the altar, I’d be happy to help.”

  Penelope suddenly recalled that Lady Viola had abandoned her first betrothed the morning they were to be wed some five years ago. She looked at the other woman in awe. “How did you manage it?” she whispered.

  “I simply said, ‘No, thank you.’”

  Lady Felicity laughed. “It was not that simple.”

  “No, I suppose it wasn’t,” Lady Viola said, exhaling. “I realized I wasn’t going to be happy with Ledbury, so I called for my brother and had him deliver a note. I apologized profusely for the upset it would cause him—I truly felt bad about that—but explained that the union would never work. He told my brother he understood even if he was vastly disappointed of course.”

  “Of course,” Lady Felicity murmured.

  “And that was it?” Penelope asked. It actually was rather simple. If only such a thing would work for Penelope. She feared if she tried some
thing like that, her parents would cast her out, and then what would she do?

  The seed of an idea took root in Penelope’s mind. Was there a chance she could have a future with Hugh? Would he even want that?

  “Yes, that was it.” Lady Viola made a slight wince, her brow briefly furrowing. “It had a lasting effect, however. I was a social pariah, not that I minded. It is not a path for everyone.”

  Penelope felt certain it also helped that Lady Viola’s grandmother was the fiercely respected—and sometimes feared—Dowager Duchess of Eastleigh.

  “Penelope!” The marchioness called her name, and Penelope looked to see her waiting impatiently. Lady Goodrick and Mrs. Riddings had moved on.

  “I must go,” Penelope said. “It was nice talking with you.”

  Lady Viola reached out and touched Penelope’s forearm. “I meant what I said—I am here to help if you should ever need it. You are not alone.”

  “You can count on me too,” Lady Felicity said with a warm smile. “You have friends now.”

  Did she? Her parents had done such a thorough job of sheltering her from relationships since the start of the Season. When she was married, they wouldn’t be able to control her. No, that would be Findon’s job.

  A wave of desperation washed over her as she bid goodbye to Lady Viola and Lady Felicity. Woodenly, as if she were a puppet whose strings were held by someone else, Penelope rejoined her mother.

  “Be careful with whom you socialize,” Mother warned.

  “What’s wrong with Lady Viola and Lady Felicity?”

  Mother pursed her lips. “You know Lady Viola’s background—she is not someone you should befriend. And Lady Felicity recently married that lowborn blacksmith. You can do far better, and you must. Come, we must get home. We have routs to attend this evening.”