Tempted By His Kiss Page 3

  He turned a page in his book and made no reply. When the silence became overwhelming, she gave a soft sigh, then made her way from the room.

  Cade waited until he heard the door click shut. Only then did he look up, imagining Meg as she walked back to her chair in the drawing room. He knew all about her habits; Beaks and his footman, Harvey, gave him frequent reports.

  So Miss Amberley wants me to join her for dinner? Foolish girl doesn’t know when she’s better off.

  Well, he would have his dinner where he always did—right here in this study, on a tray, with a bottle of scotch near at hand. And Miss Amberley could eat alone in the dining room, just as he knew she did each night.

  He frowned at the notion, strangely disquieted. Her loneliness was not his concern. After all, he hadn’t invited her here, and had no obligation to keep her company.

  Still, what would be the harm in sharing a meal?

  Brushing aside the thought as nonsense, he resumed his reading. Fifteen minutes passed, however, before he was finally able to concentrate on the words.

  CHAPTER 3

  At six-thirty that evening Meg took her now customary seat at the long walnut dining room table. Placing a white linen napkin across her lap, she waited for Harvey to return with the first course. “Potato soup,” he’d informed her with a crooked grin before departing for the kitchen.

  Glancing idly around the room, she occupied herself by studying the familiar egg-and-dart moulding on the ceiling cornice, the cream-and-gold flocked wallpaper, and the elegant, brown velvet curtains. The room possessed a refined, rather masculine atmosphere, one she thought eminently suited to its enigmatic owner.

  Linking her palms in her lap, she forced away a sigh. After all, she should be well-used to dining alone by now, seeing as she had done so every night since her arrival. She supposed she might have once again asked Amy to join her, but the girl just wasn’t at ease in the formal room, and she hadn’t the heart to force the issue.

  Briefly, she had toyed with the idea of bringing one of her new books to the table, so she might read while she ate. But the notion went against the rules of proper decorum. And although no one but she and the footman would ever know, she knew her lady mother would have been disappointed had she indulged in such “coarse” behaviour.

  Soon enough she heard footsteps, her stomach rumbling in silent anticipation of the dish to come. Her eyes widened, however, when she glanced toward the double doors and saw not the footman, but Cade Byron walk slowly inside.

  “Good evening, Miss Amberley,” he greeted. “My apologies for arriving late.”

  All she could do was stare, struck by his unassailable masculine beauty, and the fact that for once he was most elegantly and appropriately attired. A pristine white cravat was tied at his throat, and a white shirt and striped fawn waistcoat buttoned across the broad expanse of his chest. A dark blue tailcoat fit his shoulders, emphasizing their powerful shape, and pantaloons, rather than evening breeches, graced his long legs—a sartorial choice that was quite proper given the informal country setting. His cheeks were freshly shaven and his hair neatly combed, although his usual recalcitrant curl had escaped to dangle across his forehead in a most temptingly attractive way.

  “My lord,” she murmured, somehow finding the strength to unglue her tongue from the inside of her mouth. “I…um…I did not realize you had decided to join me. Harvey made no mention of it.”

  “Quite likely because I did not inform him of my intentions,” he remarked with a haughty quirk of one brow.

  Crossing the room, he moved to the head of the table, then lowered himself into the chair to her right. His limp, she noticed, seemed less pronounced than it had been on that first evening. Perhaps he is feeling better, she mused, now that the storm has passed. Mayhap the improvement has put him in a more social frame of mind.

  The footman entered moments later, a tureen of soup and a ladle borne on an oblong, silver tray. “Why hallo, your lordship. Are ye having dinner with the miss tonight?”

  “That I am, Harvey. Another place setting, if you would be so good.”

  “Right away, your lordship.” Placing his burden in front of Lord Cade, the young man went to retrieve a second plate, cutlery, and glassware.

  Once the table was properly set and wine poured, Cade leaned forward to do the honours, steam rising in a small burst when he lifted the cover from the tureen. “Plenty for two, I’d say. But then my cook always has a tendency to prepare more than is strictly necessary.”

  “Excellent. That way you may easily avail yourself of seconds.”

  He raised a brow, pausing for a moment before taking the ladle in hand and dipping it into the soup. “Are you on about that again? As I advised you earlier, I do as I like.”

  She waited while he filled and passed a bowl to the servant to set before her. Once he served himself, the footman stepped away. “And I must advise you that I shall do the same, my lord,” she replied in a soft tone. Dipping her spoon into the fragrant broth, she took a sip. “Hmm, delicious! Do go on before it grows cold.”

  His lips firmed as if he were contemplating a retort. Instead he took up his own utensil and did as she suggested. “So,” he said at length. “Where is your cousin tonight? Why does she not join us?”

  Droplets of soup splashed off Meg’s spoon, landing luckily back in the bowl rather than on the front of her dress. “Oh, she…um…wished to take a tray in her room. A bit of a headache.”

  “How singular.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that I am given to understand she never dines with you. Is she much given to aches and pains?”

  “No, not as a rule. She is of a retiring nature, however, and often prefers her own company.”

  “Curious. She didn’t strike me as the retiring sort the morning we met.”

  “Well, appearances can be deceiving, as they say.”

  “Indeed.” He ate a bit more, then set aside his spoon. Taking up his napkin, he patted his lips, before reaching for his glass of wine. “Although, in this case, you might do us both the favour of ending this ruse of yours. It will not serve, you know.”

  Her spoon bobbled again. “Excuse me?”

  “You may cease pretending that Miss Jones is your cousin,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “We both know very well that she is not.”

  “Of course she’s my cousin!” Meg defended on a sputter. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  He tossed her a speaking glance. “Mainly because she’s been down in my kitchen chatting up my staff for the past two days. The young woman comes from Wiltshire, I believe, and doesn’t sound anything like a lady ought, or so Beaks informs me.”

  Meg cursed silently beneath her breath and carefully laid down her spoon. “She has a bit of an accent, I admit.”

  “And a loose tongue to go with it.”

  Meg held steady for another moment, then let her shoulders droop in defeat. “I should have known she wouldn’t be able to resist going below stairs. I warned her not to talk to you, but didn’t think I’d have to say anything about not fraternizing with your servants.”

  His lips twitched with humour. “Well, she’s given you away, I am afraid.”

  “So, it would appear,” she sighed. “I apologize for deceiving you, my lord, but such precautions seemed prudent at the time. Amy is my maidservant, you see.”

  “Ah.” He sipped his wine.

  “A friend of the family was supposed to travel with me, but her son came down ill on the morning of my departure. Seeing that my aunt had already sent a coach to collect me and there was no one else willing to make such a long trip, I decided that taking Amy would suffice. When we were forced to seek shelter here, I…um…thought it best not to reveal my actual situation.”

  “And so you should not,” he told her in a gruff voice. “Have you no other relations who might have accompanied you? No brothers or uncles?”

  She shook her head. “No. I am an only child and both of
my parents are deceased. There is no one now, except for my great-aunt, that is. She has agreed to take me in, but could not make the trip herself. At sixty-five, she is far too old to journey long distances.”

  “She ought to have sent a man.”

  “Oh, she did. John Coachman has seen after Amy and me quite well at the inns.”

  Lord Cade arched a brow. “And what of here? I have seen little of him here.”

  “What do you mean, my lord?”

  Taking up the wine decanter, he added an inch to her glass before refilling his own. “I mean that you are, for all intents and purposes, alone with me. Aside from the obvious impropriety, there is the matter of your safety.”

  Her brows knit in puzzlement. “What about my safety? I have been most comfortable.”

  “And so you have. But what if I were another kind of man? What if I were the sort to have taken advantage of our unusual situation? You must realize, Miss Amberley, that had I wished, I might have done almost anything to you by now.”

  A startled laugh escaped her lips. “Are you saying you might have murdered me in my bed? Do not be ridiculous, my lord.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about murder, but beds would definitely have been involved.”

  Her eyes widened, her heart giving a tremendous thump. The treacherous organ beat even faster at the notion of him in her room. In her bed. Kissing her, touching her, doing all sorts of dark, sinful things of which she could only speculate. She shivered, abruptly glad he couldn’t read her mind.

  He laughed, dimples she had never noticed before appearing in his cheeks. “I see I have shocked you,” he said. “Pray do not be alarmed, since I have no such designs upon your person, lovely though it may be. I am merely pointing out the uncertain nature of your circumstances. When you travel on, I shall send one of my own men to accompany you.”

  “Thank you, my lord. That is very good of you.”

  He gave a negligent shrug, his gaze turning toward the doorway. “Ah, here comes our next course. Unless I have put you off your food, that is? Perhaps I should not have inflicted my company upon you, after all.”

  Forcing her still-speeding pulse to calm, she met his gaze. “No, I am glad you are here, and it is no infliction.”

  “Despite my being a most disagreeable man?” he inquired with a gentle tease.

  The corners of her lips turned up. “Yes, even in spite of that.” Suddenly, she could not look away, sinking helplessly into the vibrant green depths of his eyes. But then she remembered herself and forced her gaze aside. “Oh, look,” she said on a shaky breath. “Roast chicken, onion tart, and carrots. Cook has outdone himself.”

  Quietly agreeing, Lord Cade took up a knife and began to carve.

  The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, the pair of them confining their conversation to interesting yet far less provocative topics.

  As Cade ate, he watched Meg, enjoying the sparkle in her intelligent blue eyes and the expressive way she used her hands when she strove to make a point. To his surprise, he ate a great deal more than usual, truly enjoying the food as he had not in far too long.

  He didn’t know why he’d decided to indulge her. Even now he could be in his study, savouring his books and his privacy. Boredom, perhaps? Though he didn’t consider himself bored. Loneliness, maybe? Though he had never minded being alone. Yet tonight he found himself relaxing, even forgetting; the sorrows of the past months set at bay for this brief while.

  And then the meal was over, dessert and tea served and consumed, a glass of port poured for himself. Turning to assist her from her chair, he prepared to bid her a good-night.

  “Are you weary, my lord?” she asked, rising in an elegant sweep.

  He arched a brow. “Not as such, no. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering if you might join me in a game?”

  “A game? My apologies, but I’m afraid I am not much given to such pursuits these days.”

  “But surely you play chess. I could not help but notice the board in your study.”

  “You are correct,” he said, realizing he’d been fairly caught. “Still, the hour is advanced…”

  “It is only half past eight. Surely even you do not retire quite so early?”

  Actually, he retired late as a rule. The later the better, he found, since he often had trouble sleeping unless he went to his bed in a state of near exhaustion. Drink helped, and if he imbibed enough, he could sometimes sleep deeply, the dreams temporarily quieted.

  He studied Meg’s hopeful expression. For a moment he considered accepting her invitation, but then ruthlessly pushed the impulse aside. He’d already spent more than enough time in her company tonight as it was. “Be that as it may, I have other matters which require my attention this evening.”

  She lay a hand against the back of her chair. “What ‘other’ matters? Perhaps I might be of assistance. If you are planning to review accounts, I am told I have a keen eye for figures as well as a neat hand with a quill.”

  Accounts! He thought. Persistent minx. “No, not accounts,” he admitted.

  “Research then?” she ventured, her lake blue eyes gleaming with obvious mischief. “That must be the reason you lock yourself away in your book room for hours at a time. Because you are doing research.”

  His mouth twitched, threatening to turn into a smile. “No, I am not doing research, either.”

  “Then what, my lord? Surely now that you have emerged from your solitude, you cannot mean to retreat into it again so soon.”

  That was exactly what he meant to do. He should have guessed that if he gave her an inch, she would demand a mile.

  “Because if that is the case,” she argued further, “then I must urge you to continue mending your ways. Besides, what is one little game of chess? Surely you can spare a few minutes tonight regardless of your pressing schedule.”

  “Minutes can sometimes turn into hours while playing chess.”

  “But no doubt that will not be so in this case. Unless you are worried I might best you?”

  This time he did smile, his grin one of confident certainty. “No insult meant, Miss Amberley, but I am quite an experienced player.”

  “Then you should have no hesitation. Give me an hour’s entertainment, and if I lose, I promise I shall not intrude upon your solitude again for the remainder of my stay.”

  He considered her proposal, curiously tempted.

  Before he could respond, she held up a finger. “If, on the other hand, I should win, then you must promise to act more the proper host.”

  “Which would entail…?”

  “Oh, attendance at meals. The noon meal as well as the evening. I shall grant you leave to forgo breakfast, so as not to interfere with your slumber.”

  “How magnanimous,” he said, setting a casual hand against the dining table. “What more?”

  “As host, you would need to provide some sort of entertainment. My needs are simple. Cards or charades in the evening should suffice.”

  “I have no quarrel with cards, but I must tell you, I draw the line at charades. Crambo is out as well.”

  A smile broke over her winsome face. “Very well, no charades or crambo, then. So, my lord, have we a wager?”

  He hesitated, diverted by her ploy in spite of himself. “We might. Although I must tell you I had no idea you were so enamoured of my companionship.”

  Her smile widened. “I am finding that when one’s choice of society is as limited as mine is at present, one can learn to like almost anyone. Even you, my lord.”

  A laugh rumbled past his lips, her outrageous remark eliciting amusement rather than offense. He thought he caught a faint glimmer of relief in her gaze, as though she’d wondered, after she spoke, if she might perhaps have gone too far.

  She thrust out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  His amusement only increased at her rather unorthodox gesture, since as a rule ladies did not shake hands. Hesitating a scant moment more, he enfolded her palm inside his own.


  Immediate pleasure tingled over his flesh at the contact, her hand soft and delicate and extraordinarily feminine. Tiny, as well, her palm barely a fraction of the size of his own—so small that without care he knew he could crush the fragile bones inside with no more than a squeeze. He was careful and tender, though, aware of his height and strength as he towered high above her.

  Gazing down, he met the suddenly rapt expression in her eyes. Without thinking, he tightened the contact between them, the tips of his fingers brushing idly against the silky texture of her skin as he pulled her a fraction closer. She trembled but did not resist, subtly swaying toward him, near enough now for the skirts of her gown to brush against his pantaloon leg. Her lips parted—pink and pretty and sweetly kissable. He bent his head and stared at her luscious, strawberry-hued mouth, wondering if her flesh would taste as good as it looked.

  She trembled again, her eyelids drooping with reciprocal interest.

  Abruptly, he blinked and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake, as if he were emerging from a haze. What in the blazes? Surely I wasn’t about to kiss her? And God knows what else besides!

  Desire pulsed through him, his flesh thickening with unmistakable arousal. He was way out of bounds, he knew. Margaret Amberley was a guest in his house, and as such under his protection. Crossing that line, even with a kiss, would be a violation of her trust—and make him little better than the sort of scoundrel he’d warned her against earlier. Then, too, there was his oath to another woman. One whose young life may have been extinguished, but was not forgotten.

  As if Meg had suddenly turned into a leper, he dropped her hand. Pivoting on his heel, he started toward the door.

  “My lord,” she called. “You…you did not give me your answer.”

  Answer? What answer? Then he remembered—the chess game. Christ, he cursed to himself, did she still want to play that bloody game? But of course she did, having not been privy to the prurient direction of his thoughts.

  Momentarily, he considered refusing, telling her there would be no chess game tonight or any other. But then he remembered her offer. What had she said? If she lost, she would promise not to infringe upon his solitude again for the remainder of her stay. He had to admit he liked the idea of that, and its simplicity, since he knew instinctively that she was a woman of her word.