Temptation

 

Ashton shifted in his chair as a familiar tightness flooded his groin. Ella was proving an unexpected temptation. She walked away, head held high, the sheet draped around her like a Greek goddess.

If only the thing would fall off.

His thoughts froze when the sheet snagged on the corner of a table and yanked the fabric to her waist. Her sharp intake of breath sent a message straight to his cock. Soft curves, creamy flesh, and the side of one perfect breast registered before she yanked the sheet up to her neck. He remained perfectly still, too aware of the strain of his cock against his breeches as she marched without a backwards glance from the room.

Ashton stared at the closed door she’d disappeared through. Attraction—lust—would muddle the situation. He stood and headed for the door to the hallway, not only to send out for the dressmaker, but to remove himself from temptation.

He left the room and hurried to the stairs. He forced his thoughts from Ella to the more pressing matter of his inheritance. His grandmother clearly liked her. The damned dog certainly did. Would that be enough to tip the balance in his favor?

He still couldn’t believe that Ella was the debutant his grandmother wanted him to meet last summer. Ashton slowed on the stairs. By then, Ella’s family scandal had become public, yet his grandmother thought the two of them would make a good match. Not in a million years would he have believed the old woman capable of choosing a bride who might actually benefit him. What was it about Ella that made his grandmother think they would get on well? Might she tell him, if he asked?

At the bottom of the stairs, he found a maid, asked her to send for a dressmaker, then forced his steps toward the library. He stopped outside the door, suddenly uncertain he could go inside. His father was dead. Yet, standing in front of this room took him back to that ten-year-old boy about to step into a world that made him feel he was the insane one in a house filled with insanity.

He pushed open the library door and paused on the threshold. The place looked the same. Books filled the shelves that lined the right wall. No doubt, the books hadn’t been touched, save to be dusted. His father had insisted on order right down to the extermination of every last dust mite.

This had been his father’s sanctuary. After the accident, Grandmother had conducted all her business in this room, including sending him straightaway to boarding school.

Even at sixty years of age she was a beautiful woman. Her spun silver hair lay piled atop her head as she sat at his father’s large mahogany desk, her attention on a letter she wrote as she said, “Your father should have sent you to school long ago.”

Ashton stood at attention, eyes on the bookshelf behind her just as he had every time he stood before his father. “Yes, ma’am.”

She looked up from her letter and regarded him through the same green eyes they shared with his mother. “I know we don’t really know one another, but you might try calling me Grandmother.”

“Grandmother,” he obliged.

She studied him. “Would you rather stay at Kinnettles instead of going to school? I could get tutors—”

He snapped his gaze onto her face. “No, ma’am—Grandmother.” He composed himself; forced back the rising panic. “I prefer school.”

Even now he vividly remembered the shrewd look in her eyes.

“When you return home for holiday, things will be different, Ashton. I promise.”

Things were different. But not better. He returned home to discover he was known as The Demon Earl—the boy who had murdered his father. His cousin Duncan and his parents lived with his Grandmother at Kinnettles. Duncan, three years his senior, took every opportunity to taunt Ashton with the title, along with a reminder of the bad blood his father had passed onto him.

Ashton crossed to the shelves and ran his fingers over the bindings. His eye caught on a copy of Plato’s Republic, his father’s favorite. His jaw tightened. Strange, how an intelligent, educated man—charming to a fault—could be so ugly beneath the surface.

Why, mother, did you tolerate him?  

Had he actuated the wish that his father die?

Ashton spun away from the shelves. Damn it to hell. The questions had risen without willing them. His grandmother knew full well the memories that lived in this place. Why had she insisted they come here?

He crossed to the window, leaned against the sill, and crossed his arms. Despite the ghosts, he couldn’t deny the beauty of the hills and Highland mountains in the distance. His mother had hated Kinnettles with a passion. What seventeen-year-old debutant wanted to marry and live away from Society and all that she’d known? His chest tightened. She’d been but twenty-five when she died. Her portrait hung with his father’s in the gold parlor. He hadn’t been in that room since his father died.

Would she have liked Ella? Both were strong, intelligent women—and beautiful. The mental picture rose of Ella’s rounded derriere in tight breeches, then swathed like a Greek goddess, in a sheet. He stared unseeing out the window, enjoying the sensation of his cock pushing against his breeches.

His mother had preferred gay parties. Did Ella? She didn’t appear to care much for such things, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to attend many since her fall from grace. A chill touched his spine. Did she like champagne? The last time he’d seen his mother, she’d stumbled unsteadily down the hall toward her chambers, glass of champagne in hand.

“My lord,” Ella’s soft voice filtered through the room.

Ashton jarred from his thoughts. He’d lost track of time. The last rays of sun cast the library in shadow.

“What can I do for you, Ella?”

“I thought dinner would be more comfortable in the library,” she said.

He straightened from the window and faced her. She stood in the doorway. Even in the dim light of the embers, he discerned the ill-fitting dress of pink muslin that exposed more flesh than polite society allowed. His cock pulsed.

He angled his head. “As you wish. Have a seat.” He strode to the fireplace.

She sat in one of the two chairs before the hearth, as he knelt on one knee before the fire and added peat to the embers. From the corner of his eye, he watched her tug the skirts down around her ankles, clearly unaware that her actions further exposed the rise of her breasts.

His damn erection grew harder. Ashton returned his attention to the fire. He hadn’t fought lust in this fashion with Anne. In fact, these past six months, the mere sight of Anne had shriveled his manhood. Before then, he’d never experienced such a heated response to his fiancé as he currently experienced with his wife.

“Do you agree?” she asked.

Ashton twisted and looked over his shoulder.  “Pardon?”

“There isn’t enough table space in the sitting room,” she repeated, still self-consciously tugging her dress.

His attention caught on the silk draped about her hips.

“Do you agree?” she repeated.

He blinked. Christ, he’d lost track again. Ashton shrugged. “Of course.” He placed logs atop the peat, then rose and settled in the chair beside her.

The ticking of the grandfather clock and the spitting of the flames filled the silence.

“Do you care to read?” he asked.

“Do you prefer the classics?” she asked at the same time.

A smile trembled at one corner of her mouth. “I love to read. Do you?”

How many countless hours had he spent hidden in some corner of Kinnettles, lost in the worlds printed on pages? How many times had those worlds saved him? Reality returned. Saved him for what?

He looked at Ella. “You are welcome to read any of the books in the library.”

A tiny crease appeared on her brow. “Do you not like to read?”

“As a boy, I read a great deal.”

Her expression brightened. “Then you do like to read.” She rose and went to the shelves. “Oh my, Shakespeare, Sir Walter Scott, Herodotus, Plato…”

He watched as she walked her fingers over the leather spines. She was beautiful, and so very elegant, and despite the shame of her father’s scandal, she still found joy in such simple things as books.

“Ah, John Fleming.” She looked back and met his gaze with a warm smile. “I do believe this will be my choice tonight.”

If they truly were wed, she wouldn’t need a book, for he would make her winsome body sing. Would she cry out when he brought her to climax? His blood stirred at the thought.

“Well chosen,” he said, his voice a bit gruff.

She returned to her chair, the book in hand.

They sat in companionable silence, and he was relieved she didn’t press him for conversation. His parents had never sat together quietly. In fact, their time alone was spent more in their bed chambers then out. They attended far too many parties, danced until dawn, and drank to excess. His mother could hold her liquor better than some men, and many a man couldn’t resist such a challenge. His father included.

Ashton often wondered how different things might have been had his mother not loved such a life of glittering gayety and passion. But asking that question was like asking why birds flew south in the winter. No creature could change its nature.

The rustle of a book page drew his attention and he cast a covert look at Ella. She absently smoothed the page as her gaze traveled the words. She seemed oblivious to his presence. How he envied her ability to lose herself in the beauty of another life. He’d lost that ability long ago.

Light footfalls sounded in the hallway and, a moment later, a knock sounded on the open door. “Dinner is served, sir,” James announced.

Ella closed her book as a parade of servants entered with tableware, wine, and a variety of dishes. In less than a minute, they’d set the table and retreated.

“I must admit, I’m famished,” Ella confessed as she spooned white soup into her mouth. She closed her eyes as if in ecstasy.

He watched, mesmerized. If she tipped her head back and bit her lip, he just might come in his breeches. 

She chatted on about books, riding in the mornings, and her brother. Then, she paused and looked up at him through her lashes. In other women, the action would be calculated, but he read shyness in her eyes.

“I will never be able to thank you enough for ensuring Cyril’s future,” she whispered.

He angled his head. “Then we are even, madam. I cannot thank you enough for marrying me.”

She shrugged. “We have a far better understanding than most couples who marry.”

He sipped his wine. She was right, yet sadness wound through him.

He roused himself to his feet. “The hour grows late, my lady.” She looked up and his heartbeat quickened. “Shall I escort you back to the room?”

“If you would be so kind.” She stood. “This place is so large, I fear I would wander lost the entire night without a guide.”

He recalled the spark of interest in Duncan’s eyes when he’d met Ella. “It isn’t wise to wander alone,” he cautioned.

“Why?” she asked.

“Kinnettles is large, Ella. There are servants and workmen who I am unfamiliar with.”

“Surely, none of them are a threat?”

They started toward the door. “I do not wish you to explore on your own,” he said, then fell silent as he led the way back to their room.

At the door, he bid her a curt good night. He wouldn’t be sleeping in the sitting room. He knew that for certain. He’d find a nearby couch. The castle had nigh on a hundred of them.

No doubt, a good night’s sleep would restore his control.

* * *

Ashton squinted in the mirror, illuminated by morning light, and, for the third time, adjusted his elaborately tied cravat. What a fool he’d been, thinking a night’s sleep would put him to rights. Not that he’d slept much. He’d closed his eyes, but each dream featured Ella writhing beneath him. He’d awakened in a painfully hardened state that threatened to remerge after a near-freezing bath. He gave his cravat a final tug and turned away. Time to collect Ella and sit down to breakfast, all the while, pretending wedded bliss.

He reached the room, and called, “Good morning, Ella,” as he closed the door behind him.

He eyed the leather couches before the fireplace. He’d have to sleep there tonight, temptation or no. He couldn’t chance a maid stumbling upon him elsewhere and spreading rumors, not with Duncan nosing about.

“Ella?” he called again.

When silence greeted his query, he strode to the bedroom. The door stood ajar. He gave a single knock then slowly pushed it open. Bright morning sunlight streamed into the empty room. Damnation. He’d erred. No doubt, Duncan was already making snide insinuations over just why Ella had appeared at breakfast alone. He hurried from the room. With a scowl, he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor then strode down the hall.

“My lord,” a maid called.

Ashton glanced over his shoulder. The woman seemed familiar. Vaguely. He slowed to allow her to catch up with him. Where had he seen her before?

She reached his side, a slightly crestfallen look on her face. “It’s Mrs. Pitt, sir, the dressmaker. She sent a message that she’s delighted to assist and awaits your arrival.”

“My arrival?” Ashton repeated.

“The countess always sends a carriage for her, my lord. She’s rather elderly, but still expert with a needle. Doubtless, she understood from the urgency of the message that you’d pick her up yourself.”

Women.

“Then I shall be delighted to do so.”

The maid stared at him a moment longer, then hurried away. He continued to the breakfast room. As expected, Duncan lounged against the breakfast buffet with the watchfulness of a lion observing its prey. Ella sat at the rosewood breakfast table, sipping tea and obviously trying her best not to appear miserable. She’d swept up her hair in a loose bun, but a ringlet had escaped to spiral down the soft curve of her neck. Ashton fought the impulse to brush the lock aside and plant a kiss beneath her ear. To make matters worse, she wore the same tight, little dress. By God, from the lecherous gleam in Duncan’s eye, the man clearly enjoyed the view far too much.

Ashton crossed the room. “Good morning, my dear.”

Ella glanced up and her face broke out in relief. “My lord,” she murmured, preparing to rise.

“My lord?” Duncan noted with a dry laugh. “Trouble in paradise, already?”

Ashton ignored him and looked down at Ella. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face toward his. By God, she was beautiful. He dropped his gaze to her mouth and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. Her breath hitched.

Ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.