Page 23 of Temptation and the Artist

“What does that mean?”

“If I ever find out, I’ll tell you.”

“I hope, at least, it is good.” She hoped she didn’t sound as defenseless as she felt.

“You have no idea.” He pressed his lips to hers once more and then stepped back, reaching for his coat.

Had she ever been this unsure before? He would not even ask her to stay, and she could not suggest it for fear that her kiss had not inspired him enough. He was not like the other men she had known. He had discernment and she…she was no innocent. She had married twice for sentiments that had never quite reached the height of love. Or at least, she didn’t think they had.

He deserved, better, purer… But devil take the man, no one had proposed marriage.

He shrugged into his coat, and, either ignoring or forgetting his cravat, offered her his arm and opened the door.

“Am I required tomorrow?” she asked lightly.

“At sunrise, in the rose garden, if you are not too tired? I’ll wait for you.”

Will you? “Very well.”

“Aline?”

“Stephen?”

There was a pause. “You take my breath. All of it.”

She had no idea what to say to that, so she remained silent, letting the warmth and gladness seep through her. From the stairs, she could hear voices below, and a door closed above, but they reached her rooms without meeting anyone.

He raised her hand to her lips, not a chaste salute to her fingertips, but an open-mouthed kiss on her knuckles. “Until the morning. Sleep well.”

And then her hand was free, and he strode back toward the stairs.

*

Sir Oliphant woke to darkness. Despite the fuzzy head caused by last night’s brandy, he had the unpleasantly clear feeling he was not alone. He turned over in the comfortable bed and peered into the darkness. Surely a blacker darkness formed the shape of a man at the foot of his bed?

“Clive, is that you?” Sir Oliphant growled. “Go back to bed, for God’s sake. I’ll listen to your apologies tomorrow, and they had better be abject.”

“You should have taught them better when they were young,” said a freezing voice, one who should have sounded as familiar as Clive’s but did not. “I never saw why I should be the only one to be caned.”

“You squealed more,” his father sneered before he remembered he needed this son on his side, although it appeared now to be a lost cause.

“I imagine everyone squeals at five. Or was it four? No matter. I came to discuss the future, not the past. In particular, the future that will be yours and my brothers’, should you ever threaten Princess Hagerin again. Or even hint at a threat. Did you imagine she was some hapless refugee relic of a minor foreign princeling no one has ever heard of? That she has no friends in this country? Allow me to disabuse you.

“Among her friends, she counts the Prince Regent and Lord Liverpool. Also, the Duke of Wellington, the Duke and Duchess of Dearham, the Marquess of Sedgewick, and the entire Gorse clan. Several earls and government ministers are not only her friends but exceedingly protective. Accordingly, were they to hear of your mean, disgusting behavior to her, you would find yourself blackballed from every club in London—and most hells, besides. You would be cut in the street. And no one, no one would ever lend you any more money. Am I making myself clear?”

“No,” Sir Oliphant snapped, refusing to give in although his stomach was roiling in dismay. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“No? Shall I discuss the little prince? Who is not, by the way. Shall I visit my brothers and see how many bruises have formed on their faces and bodies? I do have an unmannerly urge to rub this sack in their faces.” As he spoke, he threw it at his father’s head. “Although on the whole, I can’t really be bothered. So, I will tell you this once, and once only, before I inform His Grace of Dearham of your nasty tricks. You and my brothers will leave here before ten this morning, and you will go home. When I hear you are there, I will send you a steward at my own expense. If you do not allow him to do his job, then you may sink into perdition with my utter indifference.”

He rose and moved sure-footed toward the door as though he could see in the dark. Perhaps he could. Perhaps that was why, even with a sack over his head, he had defeated both his larger, more manly brothers.

The door handle rattled. “If we are ever obliged to meet again, a mere nod will do. For once in your life, Father, make the right decision.”

Cool air whispered into the room and then the door clicked shut.

Chapter Seven

Aline made her way to the rose garden at sunrise the following morning with butterflies in her stomach and her heart both eager and afraid of meeting him again. No one kissed like Stephen Dornan. No one moved her like Stephen Dornan. She had no idea where it was leading and that both frightened and excited her.

---