One Night of Temptation Page 4

  Clasping the basket more tightly, she retreated a step and closed the door. She now fully realized how foolish she’d been to accept Maisie’s offer of help. If she hadn’t been so desperate to avoid the future her parents had arranged, she would have seen how badly things might have turned out. If not for Mr. Tarleton…

  She began to shake as she worked to secure the latch on the door, fumbling in her haste and distress. Feeling a bit numb, she took the basket to the table where she simply stood and stared, unseeing, at the window.

  A few minutes later, a knock jolted her. “It’s me, Tarleton.” He was no longer Hugh, then.

  She set the basket down and went to the door. “How do I know it’s you?”

  “You find the taste of ale exceedingly bitter, as of today. Who else knows that?”

  No one.

  She unlocked the latch and let him in. “I promise I won’t make light of your name again.”

  His gaze met hers, and he abruptly turned from her toward the door. “That’s not why I didn’t say Hugh. I forgot… I’m Mr. Tarleton to you.”

  Yes, he was.

  He closed the door and secured it once more before facing her again. He wiped his hands together as if he’d just washed them.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling better now that he was back with her. “Again. When I think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been walking down the street at that precise moment…” She began to shake once more.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. And I’m not leaving you alone in this room.”

  She wanted to be sure what he was saying. “Does that mean you’re staying here with me?”

  His answering stare awakened things inside her that she’d never experienced. Longing. Desire. Temptation. “Yes.”

  She should say no, insist he stay in his own room, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so. It was scandalous to share this room with him—as they’d already been doing, never mind overnight. Yet she’d wager what little money she hadn’t paid Maisie that Mr. Tarleton was a chivalrous man. She’d heard it in the way he’d spoken to Joseph and in the way he talked of his parishioners. She hadn’t met many men like him. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d met any.

  Mr. Tarleton’s arms came around her, and he pulled her against his chest. “It’s all right. I promise I won’t leave you again.”

  She tipped her head back and looked up at him. She knew he was speaking of tonight. Tomorrow, he would leave her—he must.

  Shockingly, she already dreaded it.

  Chapter 3

  He should let go of her. He probably shouldn’t have embraced her in the first place. However, when he’d seen her quivering and heard the trepidation and gratitude in her voice, he’d acted without thinking.

  Much as he’d done earlier when he’d stopped Joseph from abducting her.

  He meant what he’d said—he wouldn’t leave her again. When he thought of what might have happened if the Irishman had managed to get into her room, he nearly shook with fear and fury. Somehow, in the very short span of time he’d known her, he’d developed a passionate need to protect her. It would be alarming if it wasn’t so…right.

  He would leave her, however, when he delivered her back to her parents tomorrow. But he didn’t want to—her parents sounded awful. What would her father, who saw Lady Penelope as a means to his own enrichment, do with a ruined daughter?

  He stroked her back as he held her. “Have you any siblings?” he asked, curious about her family and whether she was the sole focus of her parents.

  She seemed content to remain in his arms. “A younger brother. He’s at Cambridge. My older brother died a little over two years ago after a prolonged illness.”

  Hugh knew what it was like to lose family. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “My father was devastated. He and Henry were close.” She sounded almost emotionless.

  He pulled back slightly so he could look down at her. “You were not close, I take it?”

  “When we were younger. It’s just that…” She shook her head against him. “My parents treat their sons very differently than they do me. Despite their bereavement, they made certain to communicate their disappointment that my debut had to be postponed for two Seasons.”

  The more Hugh heard of her parents, the less he wanted to meet them. But he supposed he must when he took her home. He pushed the thought away.

  The need to continue to keep her safe, to protect her from all danger, physical and otherwise, was overwhelming. He forced himself to let her go. If he didn’t, he might never. She was soft, and she curved in just the right places, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d enjoyed female companionship. The night before them stretched long and temptingly.

  He stepped away from her and went to the basket on the table. “There’s cheese, bread, brandy, and cards,” he said.

  “Brandy? I’ve never had brandy.” She joined him at the table.

  He pulled the bottle from the basket along with two glasses and set them on the table. “I can’t promise you’ll like it any better than the ale, but it’s not bitter. Shall I pour you a glass?”

  “Please.” She sat down.

  Hugh splashed the brandy into the glasses and handed one to her. “Let us discuss how you’d planned to return home tomorrow.”

  As she took a sip of brandy, her nostrils flared slightly. Then her eyes widened as she replaced the glass on the table. “Definitely not bitter. But…strong.” She settled back against her chair as he sat opposite her. “I was going to take a hack to Mayfair. I planned to tell my parents I was lured from the museum by a distressed child and then abducted outside.”

  Whether it was a believable scenario or not—and he supposed it was—they’d thought this through. “What about how you escaped?”

  She gave him a sheepish look. “Maisie said we’d work that out when we met up this afternoon.”

  “Except she wasn’t there.” Hugh intended to find Maisie, if he could, and talk some sense into her before she did something that ended badly for her. He also wanted to take her to task for swindling Lady Penelope. Not just cheating her, but preying upon her when she’d felt desperate and alone. Finally, he’d recover Lady Penelope’s money—if she hadn’t already spent hers as Joseph had—and return it.

  “No, and now I must wonder if she’d ever intended to see this through or if her plan had been nefarious all along.”

  Hugh suspected it was the latter. “I think Maisie saw an opportunity to increase her earnings through an actual kidnapping and ransom, and she needed Joseph’s help. Your plan should still work, however.”

  “Will it?” she asked. “What if Maisie never sent the ransom notes?”

  That was possible, and perhaps even likely. He heard the dismay in Lady Penelope’s voice and didn’t want to say so. “You will still be gone overnight. Won’t that be enough to ruin you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He wished he could guarantee what she needed. Instead, he focused on what he could help her with. “Let us determine how you escape. Did you see who kidnapped you?” He sipped his brandy.

  “No, they put a bag over my head.” Her lush lips spread into a half smile. “That much was true.”

  He couldn’t smile about that—not yet and maybe not ever. He’d kept a cool head when he’d spoken with Joseph, but he’d wanted to shake the man. “Did they keep the bag on your head and tie you up so you couldn’t remove it? It’s best if you can’t identify anyone so there’s no one for your family to pursue.”

  She nodded, then frowned. “If I’m tied up, how do I get away?”

  “You worked yourself free?” he suggested. “Your captors weren’t very good at tying knots.”

  She giggled. “They aren’t very good kidnappers, are they?”

  Now he smiled. Her laughter was impossible to ignore. “Apparently not.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “You made your way outside and were completely di
soriented until…” He thought for a moment and then inspiration struck. “Until you saw the spire of my church.”

  “Which I recognized at once because I’d been there!” She leaned forward in her enthusiasm. “I went to the church for help.”

  “Where you encountered me, and I took you home.”

  She blinked at him. “You did? You will?”

  “Of course. I told you I wouldn’t leave you again, and I meant it.”

  She retreated back fully into her seat and curled her hand around the glass of brandy. “But you will leave me.”

  He thought he detected a note of disappointment. Did that mean she was as loath for their connection to end as he was? “I must leave you, but I won’t disappear. Surely you’ll come to the church again. Maybe you’ll even attend a service.”

  She hesitated. “I can’t promise any of that. I’m not entirely certain what my parents will do upon my return. There is every chance my father will send me to his cousin in Lancashire.”

  He heard the hope in her voice even as he suffered a flash of dismay. Lancashire was quite far. He’d never see her again.

  “Maybe I’ll be able to come to a service before I go. I’d like to see you in the pulpit.” She fixed him with an interested stare, her head tilting slightly. “Why did you decide to become a rector?”

  “As the third son of a third son of a viscount, there are not many options. My family wanted me to pursue a military career, but by the time I was nine, I was already more interested in helping save lives than taking them.”

  “Why not become a surgeon?”

  “I thought about that too, but I wanted to help more than people’s bodies. I wanted to help their souls.” He’d grieved terribly when his mother had died, and there’d been little comfort for him.

  “Their souls,” she whispered. “That’s lovely.”

  He hadn’t really thought of it that way, but hearing her say it with reverence and admiration made him think it was possible, if not true. “I don’t know if it is, but it seemed…necessary. To me, anyway. My family is hardworking, and they thought I should aspire higher than joining the clergy. As you mentioned earlier, the profession doesn’t always have a reputation for diligence.”

  “Surely they knew you would be a different sort of clergyman.”

  “That didn’t stop them from thinking I would be a better soldier, or maybe a barrister.” He leaned against the back of his chair. “They learned to accept it.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” she asked. “You mentioned your mother earlier. Your father? Your older brothers?”

  He thought of his family, whom he only saw perhaps once a year, or even less. They wrote, however, and there was a stalwart sort of love, even if it was never mentioned. “My father died about five years ago. I’ve two older brothers, an older sister, and a younger sister. They’re all wed with families of their own.”

  “They had no trouble finding spouses—unlike you,” she observed. “Not that you’re having trouble.”

  “Not trouble, no. I just haven’t made it a priority. Maybe because I haven’t met a woman who’s prompted me to make it a priority.” He didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way or to insinuate she might be such a woman, but he couldn’t help but think of the possibility… Which was absurd. She was the daughter of a marquess, and, ruined or not, she wouldn’t be allowed to marry the rector of St. Giles.

  She nodded in understanding. “I haven’t either—met a man, I mean.” She turned her head and stared out the window, her hands gripping the brandy glass. “I just want to find the right person.”

  His body thrummed with expectation. “I want that too.”

  She shot a glance in his direction. “Who is the right person? For you.”

  He ignored the desire pooling in his belly. The possibility he’d imagined a moment ago took root. He was incredibly drawn to her, and with each passing moment, the connection between them grew stronger. Did she feel that too? “I would like a wife who, above all, wants to help others, particularly those who are unable to help themselves. She should be intelligent, warmhearted, and, if it’s not too much to ask, in possession of a fine wit.”

  “Why would that be too much to ask?”

  He shrugged. “I am often told I should laugh more. A wife with a sense of humor would undoubtedly help with that.”

  “Who tells you that?” she asked.

  “Tom—my curate. My housekeeper. My sisters.”

  “Not your brothers?”

  “They wouldn’t dare. They laugh less than I do.” He smirked, especially as he tried to think of Gabriel, his eldest brother, so much as chuckling.

  “I’m trying to think back, and I don’t recall you laughing today. Maybe a chuckle, but nothing more.”

  “I did laugh.” He cocked his head to the side. “You, however, genuinely laughed when we discussed Maisie and Joseph.” The memory of that warm sound teased a smile to his lips.

  Her eyes glowed with something that might have been merriment. “It was your sarcasm.”

  “Sarcasm was the primary form of humor in my house growing up.”

  “Mine didn’t have any humor, sarcastic or otherwise.” She looked toward the window, then shot him a quick look. “That wasn’t sarcasm, by the way, but I can see where you might think it was.”

  No, he didn’t think that. She’d drawn a troublesome picture of her family.

  He moved the conversation back to where they’d been. “I told you about the wife I’m looking for. What are your requirements for a husband?”

  “Kindness.” The word came fast but soft, and he waited for her to continue. She didn’t. She picked up her glass and drank more of her brandy.

  Before he could speak, she reached forward and dug into the basket. Withdrawing a slice of bread, she asked, “Shall we have bread and cheese?”

  He found the cheese and broke off a piece to hand to her. She held out her palm, and his fingertips grazed her skin as he gave her the cheese. Their gazes connected, and his hand lingered over hers for a moment before he forced himself to move it away.

  He busied himself with a slice of bread and a hunk of his own cheese. They ate for a moment, and he pondered what he knew of her.

  She’d concocted a scheme—with help—to ruin herself in order to avoid marriage. Yet, she wasn’t entirely opposed to marriage, and she desired a husband who was kind. She came from a cold family and possessed a charming demeanor and had even flirted with him. Lady Penelope was a complicated young woman, and Hugh wondered if he could even begin to unravel her secrets in the night they had before them.

  He also wondered if he should even try.

  But why shouldn’t he? What else would they do besides play cards?

  Furthermore, he wanted to. In fact, he was desperate to.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the bed. A night alone with a beautiful woman in a room with a bed would typically be a welcome predicament, particularly for a rector who’d rarely had female company since becoming a deacon six years before and hadn’t had any since becoming rector of St. Giles. At first, it was because he was simply busy and dedicated to his work. However, it became apparent after a few months that he could set an example for the denizens of St. Giles by embracing the virtue of chastity. It wasn’t always easy, especially at this particular moment.

  “I love cheese,” she said with charming satisfaction.

  “Do you? What kind?”

  “All kinds, but I am especially fond of cream cheese. I would probably put it on everything if I was allowed to do so.”

  “Everything? I suppose, for you, it would improve the taste of ale.”

  She was about to take a bite of bread and cheese, but she paused. And she giggled, the honeyed sound filling his senses and making him grin in return. “Yes, I daresay it would.” Her brows arched briefly as she took her delayed bite.

  “I also like cheese, but then I must since I am from Wiltshire. However, my favorite is Stilton.”

  “Mmm.” She
pressed her lips together to make the sound, and he swore he felt it in the pit of his belly. “I didn’t like it at first—too strong. But I’m afraid there isn’t a cheese I won’t devour.”

  She said this with such conviction and fervor that for a brief moment he longed to be a wedge of cheese. Which was absolutely absurd. And shocking. No, the shocking part was the way in which Lady Penelope, a high-society miss, was charming him. She was lively, intelligent, and gracious.

  He leaned back in his chair as he contemplated her. “Now I see why you want a husband who is kind.”

  “Why?” she asked with a hint of wariness.

  “Because you’ve a kind heart.” The moment between them lengthened as they looked at each other wordlessly. Something gathered in his chest, something that made him feel protective and warm and…eager for the night ahead.

  He reached for the cards in the basket. “Shall we play piquet?”

  Chapter 4

  “I win again!” Penelope laughed with glee.

  Mr. Tarleton gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. “You’re sure you’ve never played before?”

  She shook her head. “My parents say card games are not appropriate for young ladies and that I can play when I am wed.” At least that was the rule her mother repeated, likely to justify her own penchant for cards while denying Penelope. “What other games do you know?”

  He blew out a breath. “Dozens. We played cards quite often in my house. In truth, my family can be ruthless.”

  That sounded wonderful. “I hope you’ll teach me another.”

  “Certainly. I think our dinner will be arriving shortly.” He set the cards to the side atop the ones he’d had to remove from the deck in order to play piquet. “Why are card games not appropriate for young ladies?”

  “Because it won’t help me gain a husband.”

  “What are you allowed to do?”

  “Dance, play the pianoforte, embroider, paint, and ride.” She thought for a moment. “Yes, I think that’s everything. Oh, and shop. I’m allowed to shop, but only with my mother, and she dictates every purchase, so I don’t count it as an activity that I enjoy.”