More than Tempted (Scandal Sheet Survivors Book 1), page 1
More than Tempted
Scandal Sheet Survivors
Book 1
ADELE CLEE
Contents
Books by Adele Clee
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Thank you!
About the Author
Books by Adele Clee
Copyright
More titles by Adele Clee
Lost Ladies of London
The Mysterious Miss Flint
The Deceptive Lady Darby
The Scandalous Lady Sandford
The Daring Miss Darcy
Avenging Lords
At Last the Rogue Returns
A Wicked Wager
Valentine’s Vow
A Gentleman’s Curse
Scandalous Sons
And the Widow Wore Scarlet
The Mark of a Rogue
When Scandal Came to Town
The Mystery of Mr Daventry
Gentlemen of the Order
Dauntless
Raven
Valiant
Dark Angel
Ladies of the Order
The Devereaux Affair
More than a Masquerade
Mine at Midnight
Your Scarred Heart
No Life for a Lady
Scandal Sheet Survivors
More than Tempted
Not so Wicked
Chapter One
The Chatterton Ball
Mayfair, London 1830
Nicholas St Clair moved with panther-like grace, his steps sleek and purposeful, his attention focused on the beautiful woman with a cascade of auburn curls—his partner for the waltz. He brushed a hand through his ebony locks and smiled, a sinful curling of the lips that wrapped around Helen’s heart and squeezed tightly.
A wise woman would look away.
A wise woman would not endure such torture.
But she was a fool, a hopeless fool in love.
The sickness had taken hold of her during the summer of her sixteenth birthday, when she twisted her ankle on the long walk to Thornborough. Being the first to notice, Nicholas had sprinted to her side, quickly dropped to his knees on the damp grass, captured her foot and unlaced her boot.
“Tell me where it hurts.” Concern had marred his voice as his fingers slipped slowly back and forth over her white stocking. “Here?”
Her gasp had nothing to do with the pain or the scandalous way he stroked her ankle. No. It was the instant spark of excitement that left her fighting for breath.
But then her brother Sebastian arrived to replace his best friend, and the confounding ache in her chest proved more troublesome than her throbbing ankle.
It had been a constant blight ever since.
Helen mentally shook herself back to the present. She scanned the horde of couples swirling about the floor, but her eyes were trained to find him. Only him. The spectacular man she must admire from afar.
“You’re staring at Mr St Clair again,” Mina said, for she was the voice of reason whenever Helen struggled to hide her obsession.
Forcing her gaze from the dance floor, Helen faced her friend. “On the contrary, I was admiring Lady Hadlow’s silver gown. You’re right. It looks sheer in a certain light.”
Amusement danced in Mina’s brown eyes. “Lady Hadlow left the ballroom a few minutes ago. She came over all faint and had Captain Parker escort her out onto the terrace.”
Hell’s bells!
“She did?” Helen glanced over her shoulder, only to glimpse Nicholas smiling at the auburn-haired goddess. “Well, as we’re forced to hide behind the potted ferns”—the place where scandalous ladies conducted their public penance—“I cannot be expected to notice everything.”
Mina narrowed her gaze. “Yet I imagine you could tell me exactly how many inches separate a certain gentleman from his dancing partner.”
Despite knowing Nicholas stood a respectable six inches from the beauty, Helen played the ignorance card. “That all depends. To whom are you referring?” Nicholas never took liberties with a lady in public. She refused to think about what he did in private.
“I speak of the man destined to be nothing more than your friend.” Mina cupped Helen’s upper arm and offered a pitying smile. “He thinks of you as a younger sister, Helen. Is it not better to embrace him as a brother before this infatuation sees you completely ruined?”
Embrace him as a brother!
Impossible!
At night, in the dark confines of her bedchamber, she imagined his powerful hands caressing her thighs, his hot breath breezing over her bare skin. She longed to feel his weight pressing her down into the mattress. And she had heard enough tales from her friend Lillian to know what happened next. Indeed, the thought of taking Nicholas St Clair into her body almost had her reaching for a vinaigrette.
“You’re destined for spinsterhood,” Mina teased.
Helen laughed as she recalled their visit to the fortune-teller’s tent at the Bartholomew Fair. The woman had beckoned them inside with the curl of a crooked finger, spoken from behind a widow’s veil.
“According to the mystic, I’m to lose my virginity to a man covered in cow dung.” She experienced a deep pang of regret. Nicholas was never anything but immaculate. “If I’m to be a farmer’s wife, let me enjoy this little infatuation while it lasts.”
It was more than infatuation.
And it would last a lifetime.
Mina gave a half-smile, but then her eyes widened and her mouth gaped. “Quickly. Prepare yourself. Mr St Clair is heading this way.”
“What?” Helen’s pulse quickened. These days, he rarely spoke to her without Sebastian being present. “Are you certain?” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm her thundering heart.
She felt his presence keenly before he said, “Miss Langley.”
A shiver rippled down her spine, but she straightened and turned to face the man she had loved for seven years.
“Mr St Clair. Good evening.” Her tone conveyed a respectable politeness so opposed to the wild rush of panic racing through her veins. “Sebastian said we might see you this evening. He has gone to fetch lemonade.” She gestured to Mina. “You know Miss Ferrington, of course.”
He inclined his head, and she caught a hint of his musk and amber cologne. The fragrance evoked thoughts of a confident, deeply sensual man. No, Nicholas would never smell of cow dung. He would never smell anything but divine.
Offering a playful grin, he peered around the Grecian urn. “Where are your friends tonight? Typically, there are four of you clinging to the walls like ivy.”
Yes, disgraced women found safety in numbers.
“Miss Ware and Miss MacTavish had a prior engagement.” It was a small lie. After hearing the fortune-teller’s prediction, Lillian wished to avoid the Duke of Dounreay. “Something to do with the Archeological Association’s quarterly meeting.”
He pursed his lips, and her heart wept a little for never knowing their taste. “Yet you’re more interested in the study of horticulture than digging up old relics.” He referred to the reason she remained near the potted plants.
“Those named in the Scandal Sheet are considered tainted. Like lepers, we must distance ourselves from the hypocrites who hide behind masks of morality.”
She laughed.
He did not.
His tight mouth revealed his displeasure. “Let us pray Mr Parbrook remains in France. Sebastian will kill him if he dares show his face in town again.” He firmed his jaw and looked ready to throttle the scoundrel, too.
Her heart sank to her stomach at the memory of that fateful night three months ago. Nicholas had been quiet and subdued at the Hamptons’ soiree. Upon leaving the ladies’ retiring room, she had seen him disappear down a dark corridor. The urge to follow had trampled over the logical part of her brain.
Who knew Mr Parbrook was on the hunt that night?
Who knew he needed a bride with a sizeable dowry?
And yet it wasn’t the stain on her reputation that kept her awake until dawn. It was the image of Nicholas standing still in the doorway, assuming she had arranged an assignation.
“It was a misunderstanding, nothing more,” she said, knowing he did not believe her excuse that she had needed a moment away from the stuffy ballroom. She could hardly admit to stalking him.
Those magnificent blue eyes met hers briefly, and she felt the usual jolt in the pit of her stomach. “I credit you with more sense than to take a man like Parbrook as a husband.”
More sense?
She had lost her wits in a field seven years ago.
“If I marry, it will be for love, not because a rogue tried to force my hand.” And so she was destined to spend her life alone. The only consolation being Nicholas had vowed never to wed.
Life could be worse. She might have suffered Mina’s fate. Jilted by her betrothed, who escaped reproach by spreading lies she was less than chaste. Her wastrel brother had done nothing to quell the rumours, and to Mina’s horror, the story had appeared in the Scandal Sheet.
Sebastian arrived to hand them their lemonade. “Sorry I took so long. I met Camberley in the queue, and he quizzed me about the North York mining investment.” Then he mentioned he had asked Nicholas to join them, which explained why a man who could dance with any woman in the room stood near the potted ferns.
“Camberley is having doubts?” Nicholas asked.
Sebastian gave his friend a knowing look. “When you failed to attend the meeting, Camberley feared you had withdrawn your pledge.”
She caught a flicker of something strange in Nicholas’ eyes. Like the night at the Hamptons’ soiree, he seemed tired and troubled. Mostly, he was so calm and composed.
“I trust you reassured him,” he said, giving no reason for his absence or the sudden lapse in confidence.
“Of course.” Sebastian patted his friend playfully on the arm. “Let’s not bore the ladies with matters of business. I’m sure they find gentlemen’s talk rather dull and seek more frivolous entertainment.”
Helen suppressed a snort. Sebastian thought the Thursday night gathering with her friends amounted to them drooling over an issue of La Belle Assemblee. She always kept her ribbon basket to hand, just in case he appeared. Instead, they discussed unsuitable subjects. Hence how she knew what happened between a man and a woman in bed.
She glanced covertly at Nicholas but found him watching her. “Are you not dancing tonight, Miss Langley?”
When her parents were alive—when he spent more time at their home than his own—he often called her Helen. He had not done so since dashing tears from her cheeks at her mother’s funeral.
She feigned amusement. “I’m afraid the only gentlemen willing to scribble their names on my dance card are the rogues and rakes.”
But I would dance with you, she said silently. I would let you put your hands on my body, let you hold me dangerously close.
“We could persuade a few eligible men to dance with you,” Sebastian said, including Nicholas in this brotherly conversation. “Not that it matters. Soon, titled lords will swarm around you like bees to a honey pot, desperate to win your favour.”
Mina laughed. “I pray you speak in earnest, my lord. Then I may play chaperone and move out from beneath the fronds.”
Helen could not share in Mina’s mirth. Fear slithered through her body like a serpent of dread, hissing a warning that life was about to take a terrible turn for the worse. “Why? Do you know a spell to turn back time?”
Could he make a case for mistaken identity? Could he persuade another young woman to come forward and claim she had been mauled by that monster?
Her handsome brother brushed the blonde lock from his brow and winked. “No, I have doubled your dowry in the hope it will compensate for that ridiculous story in the Scandal Sheet.”
Time seemed to stop for a moment.
“D-doubled my dowry?” She almost choked on the words.
“You’re three and twenty and should have married long ago.”
Nicholas cleared his throat and said with a measure of calm, “Should she not marry a man who loves her? The size of her dowry won’t alter that fact. It will only make her a target for fortune-hunters.”
Her soul sighed at his need to defend her position. But they sounded much like brothers discussing a family problem, and that thought roused her ire.
“I have two years until I am considered a spinster. You’re almost thirty, dear brother. Should you not join the marriage mart?”
Sebastian scoffed. “The rules do not apply to men.” He gripped Nicholas by the shoulder. “Neither of us is suited to marriage. We made a blood pact. Both vowed to abstain until we reach the ripe old age of fifty. Then I’ll have no choice but to sire an heir, though St Clair is more fortunate and need never marry at all.”
Thank heavens!
She would rather die than watch Nicholas exchange vows with the Season’s diamond. Should she hear a hint of a betrothal, she would join the Sisters of Saint Agnes and dedicate her life to the Lord.
For now, she thought of a way to steer the subject away from husbands and dowries. “I’m certain Mina would prefer to speak about something that doesn’t remind her of the scandal.”
Sebastian realised his error and inclined his head in apology. “Forgive me, Miss Ferrington. Though I imagine you would rather discuss marriage than your wayward brother. I fear another scandal is looming. Sir Thomas has not left the card room all evening.”
Mina’s shoulders sagged from the weight of her burden. “Gaming has become an obsession. He barely eats or sleeps anymore. Most of the time, he wanders about the house in a mindless daydream.”
Helen felt a wave of sympathy for the man’s plight. She spent a ridiculous amount of time lost in wild fantasies. Still, her fixation would not leave her sibling ruined and destitute.
A sudden commotion drew everyone’s attention to the hallway.
Mr Masters, a notorious gentleman who excelled at most things, including hazard and piquet, dragged Sir Thomas by the scruff of his coat along the polished oak floor and deposited him in the ballroom.
“Accuse me of cheating again and I shall sever your tongue and feed it to the crows.” Despite the crowd’s shocked gasps, Mr Masters braced his hands on his lean hips and glared at the oaf squirming snake-like on the parquet. “You do not want to provoke me.”
“Can a man not ask if the dice are weighted?”
“If he values his life, he should keep his damn mouth shut.” And with that, the intimidating Mr Masters strode back to the card room.
Mina turned as pale as the night’s full moon. “Lord have mercy! I must get the fool to our carriage before he loses more than his racing curricle.”
“Let me be of assistance, Miss Ferrington,” Sebastian said. Solving other people’s problems helped him to forget his own. “One does not provoke a man like Masters. Your brother would be wise to remain indoors for a month.” He instructed Helen to wait by the ferns before whispering in Nicholas’ ear and leading Mina away.
She was alone with Nicholas St Clair.
The crystal chandeliers, the array of vibrant gowns, and the soft strains of a waltz faded to nothing. She had not had his undivided attention since they’d stood at her mother’s graveside two years ago. The prospect that this might be the last time left her just as heavy with grief.
“I have been asked to keep you company,” he said in the smooth voice that stirred the hairs on her nape. “And to extol the value of marriage, which is rather ironic considering I am sworn to bachelorhood.” He smiled, and she found herself smiling, too.
“While Sebastian acts the hero, you’ve got the role of brother.” Was there no justice in the world? “I’m sorry you’ve been lumbered with me.”
He gave a half shrug. “It’s no hardship.”
What did that mean?
Did he like playing the older sibling?
Did he like her company?
Who knew?
She scanned the impressive breadth of his shoulders, and although her décolleté exposed a little more flesh tonight, his gaze never dropped lower than her nose. “Even if it were, I am sure you could handle any problem thrown your way.”
His smile faded. “I only wish that were true.”
More conundrums!
“You seem preoccupied tonight.” There was little point dancing around the obvious. “As I have no interest in my brother’s matchmaking plans, perhaps we should discuss the reason for your disquiet.”
