The Price of Temptation (12 page)

Chapter 19

E
velyn paced her bedroom until noon the next day, afraid to leave for fear of seeing Sam at breakfast, or in the hallway. What would she say?

She’d kissed her footman
.

She’d fallen into his arms like a strumpet, pressed her body to his, and she hadn’t wanted to stop.

How far would it have gone? She pressed a hand to her lips to still the telltale tingle, and felt a blush heat her body from her toes to her hairline.

Yet again, he’d been there to make her feel safe. In his arms, kissing him, she’d forgotten the note and the debt she owed Lord Creighton. She didn’t want to think about them even now. She couldn’t get her thoughts off Sam, and how different she’d felt with him.

Kissing him made her feel wild and out-of-control,
burning
with desire. It hadn’t been like that with Philip. Her husband was not a man of passion, at least not with her. She supposed it had been different with his mistresses, and the scores of actresses and whores he took to his bed.

Philip had handled bedding his wife like he dealt with his business affairs—quickly, decisively, and completely to his own advantage. He gave her no pleasure and barely seemed to derive any from their brief, infrequent matings. His unwelcome attentions were visited upon her as punishment, discipline.

She had never kissed anyone the way she’d kissed Sam, with open mouths, tongues touching. The only kiss Philip had ever bestowed upon her was a dry brush of his lips on hers to seal their marriage vows.

She relived the taste of Sam’s tongue, the intimate sensation of having a part of his body inside hers. She recognized the similarity to the sex act, of course, but it had been the most exquisite sensation she’d ever known.

And it must never happen again.

She crossed the room and rang for Mary. She couldn’t hide in her room all day. It was only a kiss, and he’d probably forgotten it by now. He wasn’t hiding, she was certain of that. He had work to do, and was getting on with his day.

She chose a simple morning gown, and when Mary finished pulling her hair into a sensible bun, went downstairs to the library, her sanctuary, and closed the door behind her and leaned on it. Her heart was still pounding out her fear of meeting Sam in the hall, and in disappointment at not seeing him.

Sitting down on the settee, she remembered the day he’d brought her the tarts, watched her eat them. She’d wanted to kiss him then, and he resisted.

She frowned, running her fingertip over her mouth again. Had he been the one to initiate the kiss last night, or was it her? Had it been the same desire that overwhelmed her that afternoon in this room, or it was born of the spark of awareness she felt when she first saw him in the park?

Whatever it was, she had never meant to act upon her feelings.

She had been grateful when he climbed into the coach. It had also been shocking, of course. He was a servant, separated from her by the unbridgeable gulf of class and the strict rules of proper behavior. Servants did not ride inside a coach with their mistress, and even a gentleman would not be so bold as to sit beside a lady. Those trifling rules of etiquette hardly mattered when she’d broken the strictest rule of all.

Ladies did not kiss their servants.

She shut her eyes. What devil’s spell was she under? She had always prided herself on being immune to the temptations of a handsome face, a rogue’s grin, a clever wit.

Perhaps she was indeed as silly as her sisters, every bit as wanton, vain, and gluttonous. She wanted more of Sam’s kisses, more of him. There was no other way to describe it. Even in the cold light of day, when good sense should have taken over, her mouth watered, her body craved him. She pressed her fist against the sharp ache of longing in her belly. Was this what lust felt like? She knew what it
looked
like.

She crossed to the bookshelf at the back of the library and climbed the ladder to the top shelf. Philip kept a collection of books for his private delight, believing that she knew nothing about them. She’d found them while looking for a book of poetry her father had given her. She’d been shocked, of course, but curious as well. The erotic drawings were intriguing and forbidden, especially to a well-bred lady. She suspected Philip’s books were valuable, if only to someone with similarly debauched tastes to his own, but it would be impossible for her, a lady, to sell them.

She took one of the heavy volumes from the shelf now. The leather cover warmed instantly at her touch.

She propped it against the top rung of the ladder and opened it, holding her breath.

The drawings inside were of a man and a woman, naked, entwined. She had looked at the woman’s face before, thought her a lewd and unnatural creature. Now she recognized her arched back, closed eyes, her slack mouth, as desire, and pleasure.

She’d felt it in Sam’s arms.

She shivered, feeling it now.

In the drawing, the man’s face was buried in his lover’s neck, his hair dark, like Sam’s, his naked back lean and strong. One of his hands cupped a lush breast, and the other was buried between her thighs.

How would it feel to be touched like this by Sam? She pictured his hands, long-fingered and tanned, imagined them touching, caressing, squeezing. A small, needy little noise escaped from her, half gasp, half sigh. Her body felt liquid, feverish.

“My lady?”

She almost fell off the ladder. She looked down to find Starling staring up at her. She snapped the book shut and shoved it back on the shelf.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I did knock, but when you didn’t answer I became concerned.”

“Just looking for a book,” she murmured.

He held the ladder as she descended. “If you wish to have books brought down from the high shelves, I can ask Sam to do it for you. It’s a long way up, and dangerous. Is there a particular volume you’d like him to fetch?”

She felt her cheeks heat at the mention of Sam’s name. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, smoothing a hand over her skirt. “What did you wish to see me about?”

He looked contrite as he delivered the news. “Your sisters have arrived, my lady.”

“Sisters?” she parroted. “More than one?”

“Yes, my lady, all three, and all in yellow. I asked Sam to show them into the salon.”

She felt herself turn a sickly shade of the same color. She was in for a long, blistering lecture.

She should have worn yellow last night, she told herself again, and she should not have left without a word of good-night. Actually, she should have stayed home, out of harm’s way. There would have been no note, no upsetting encounter with Lord Creighton, and no forbidden, stolen kisses in the velvety darkness of her coach.

She took a bracing breath. “Thank you, Starling. Please have cook send up tea, and plenty of cakes. Charlotte prefers cream cakes, and Eloisa eats only plain biscuits. Lucy will want strawberries, and probably champagne, if there is any.”

He bowed and withdrew, and Evelyn crossed to the mirror. Did she look wanton? She brushed her hand over her hot cheeks, tried to suck the color out of her lips, still pink from Sam’s rough skin. Her eyes looked different, she thought. Glowing, as if there was a banked fire inside her, ready to rage out of control at the slightest breeze. Would her sisters notice?

She checked her gown. It was a sprigged muslin, but even if some of the tiny flowers that adorned it were yellow, the ribbon trim was green, and sure to remind Eloisa of last night’s fashion faux pas. It couldn’t be helped. She didn’t have time to go upstairs and change. Her sisters would not wait patiently for her. They’d follow her up and confront her in her room, and that was to be avoided at all costs, since it would take Eloisa straight to the wardrobe, where she’d spend the rest of the afternoon explaining why each and every garment she owned was
wrong
.

She pictured her sisters kidnapping her and dragging her off to the nearest modiste to be refitted from head to toe in cheddar, or porridge, or roast goose.

Before she even reached the closed door of the salon, she could hear the squawk of conversation. It sounded like birds fighting over a particularly tasty morsel. Probably her. The only variable was whether they were discussing her fortune, her clothing, or who would move in and play chaperone next.

Evelyn paused outside the door, her hand on the latch, her stomach knotted, gathering the courage to enter the fray.

The latch moved under her hand, and the door opened. Sam almost ran into her. He put a hand under her elbow to steady her, and she felt heat race up her arm.

She looked up at him, saw the answering flare in his eyes.

“I was sent to see what was taking you so long,” he said apologetically, giving her a rueful smile.

He didn’t let go immediately, and she couldn’t seem to look away from him. She stood breathing him in, gazing into the depths of his gray eyes. Her knees wobbled.

“Evie! There you are at last!” Charlotte cried. “We’ve been here almost ten minutes.”

Sam stepped aside at once, let her precede him into the room, and took his place inside the door, standing at attention.

“Ooh, Evie, you have a new footman!” Lucy gushed, eyeing Sam. “How delicious!”

“Down, Lucy,” Evelyn said, bristling. “Don’t you have footmen of your own to molest?”

Lucy sniffed. “I never dally with the help. That’s Frayne’s peccadillo, not mine.” Her eyes lit. “Speaking of ladies and servants, I heard the most delicious bit of scandal this morning from my maid.”

“Oh, I love gossip!” Charlotte said as she leaned in to help herself to a cream cake. Eloisa was regarding Evelyn’s gown, her lips pinched in disapproval. Evelyn resisted the urge to fold her arms over her bodice, and sent her sister a sweet smile instead.

“Well, I heard—” Lucy began, only to be interrupted as the door opened.

“More callers, my lady,” Starling announced. “The Marchioness of Blackwood and Countess Westlake have arrived.”

Evelyn almost sagged with relief. Reinforcements had arrived in the nick of time. With Isobel and Marianne by her side, she wouldn’t be overrun and trampled by her sisters today. She smiled and sent up a prayer that neither lady was wearing yellow and could be held up as a shining golden example for her to follow.

“Show them in, Starling, and fetch more cups,” she said.

“I thought you didn’t have any visitors,” Charlotte said, clearly annoyed at the interruption to Lucy’s
on dit
.

“I still have friends,” Evelyn said.

“And we are two of her closest and dearest,” Isobel, the Marchioness of Blackwood, said, and she swept into the room with Marianne. Isobel was wearing a soft shade of azure blue, and Marianne’s gown was leaf green. They kissed Evelyn’s cheek and took their places on either side of her, facing the three sisters on the opposite settee. Evelyn hid a smile. They looked like opposing armies. Eloisa regarded the three of them with dismay, but refrained from comment, other than dramatically smoothing her hand over her lemon yellow skirt.

“Lucy had a shocking
on dit
from her maid this morning, and I am dying to hear it,” Charlotte said, looking at Marianne and Isobel. “What were you going to tell us, Lucy?”

“Isobel’s news first,” Marianne said, holding up a hand to still the sisters. She grinned like a conspirator. “Go on, Isobel, tell them.”

Isobel blushed scarlet, but her eyes glowed. “I hadn’t expected to announce it to
everyone
.” She touched a hand to her stomach and smiled. “I am expecting a child.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “Blackwood’s?” she asked. Marianne bristled.

Isobel’s eyes burned into Lucy’s. “Of course!”

Lucy shrugged. “Well, I had to ask. He’s such an incorrigible rake. Worse than Frayne, and I always find if it’s good for the gander, why shouldn’t the goose enjoy it too?”

“
Was
incorrigible,” Isobel murmured. “He has reformed.”

“Phineas is utterly and completely devoted to his
wife
,” Marianne said pointedly, glaring at Lucy. She looked at Evelyn. “We had to come to visit today. Blackwood is insisting on taking Isobel home to the country at once. He won’t let her out of his sight, and he wants her to eat plenty of cream and good country butter.”

“And strawberries. I have the most powerful yearning for strawberries,” Isobel said. “And cherries.”

Charlotte sniffed. “Do forgive me, Isobel, it’s good news, I’m sure, but I have five children. News of a married lady in an interesting condition is, well, hardly interesting at all. Go on, Lucy. Tell us what you heard.”

Evelyn sent Isobel a smile. Her friend was glowing, utterly in love with her husband, obviously filled with such joy that not even Charlotte could dampen her spirits.

Evelyn had wished for a child. Before her marriage she’d also wished for a husband who would adore her. She got neither. She toyed with the wedding ring on her finger, wanting to tear it off and throw it into the fireplace.

“Well, my maid told me that she heard it from one of our footmen, who heard it from Lady Carstairs’s groom.
He
said that he saw a
lady
kissing a
footman
on the very steps of Somerson House last night.”

Evelyn’s heart stopped beating.

The collective gasp filled the room like a windstorm. She looked up at Sam in surprise. He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. There was no guilt, no regret, and no apology in his eyes. She wondered if he’d even heard Lucy’s comment.

“At my ball?” Charlotte warbled, her hand on her chest. “Oh, fetch the hartshorn—I think I’m going to faint!”

Eloisa poked her. “You will not! Lucy, does your maid know who the lady was?”

Lucy giggled. “No. She had her face buried in the footman’s coat, and his arms were around her nice and tight. I’d guess it was Alice Cox. She has a penchant for the lower orders, likes her men rough and ready.”

Marianne shook her head. “No, Alice was dancing with Lord Melrose’s youngest son all evening. That was enough of a scandal. They stood up for
four
dances, and she knows the limit is three.”