The Price of Temptation Page 7

  “Oh, God, Julian. I’ve missed you so.” Stephen stroked the golden curls hovering just above his lap. It was easy to be contrite when Julian was being so agreeable. He arched his pelvis, ready for the actor to pick up the pace, but Julian held his hips steady, keeping to a slow, maddening rhythm. “Oh, that is so good.”

  How could he ever have wasted time thinking about that little mouse at home, when he had access to such skill? No matter how attractively his secretary colored up when he was angry, how his eyes flashed fire even behind the muting spectacles... But Julian, of course, enjoyed his kisses. Just for a moment, he imagined Jamie’s mouth busy where the other man’s was now, and had to bite his tongue, hard, to keep from coming on the spot. Why? he wondered. Next to Julian, he’s nothing. Just a mouse, just a little— “Jamie,” he whispered, and with a soft cry he ruined Julian’s careful ministrations, which should have gone on for an agonizingly long time.

  Julian lifted his head, green eyes narrowed. “Did you say ‘Jamie?’”

  Stephen thought fast. “No, of course not. I said, ‘you shame me.’ I don’t usually lose control so easily.” He held his breath, but Julian’s vanity carried the day, and the actor believed his clumsy lie.

  The Golden One relaxed back onto his heels, his smirk holding triumph as he wiped his mouth. “Such passion,” he said. “I don’t know what you’d do without me.”

  Stephen closed his eyes. “I can’t imagine.”

  Jamie shifted from one foot to the other in the hallway outside the morning room. His lordship was probably still angry after yesterday, but a curious encounter with Abby Sawtell made it necessary to seek him out now.

  Abby had emerged from the stables behind the house and visited him in the library, her rough clothes and raw bones looking out of place in the refined room.

  “Mrs. Sawtell? What can I do for you?”

  “Lordship ain’t the horsy type,” she’d said without preamble, seeming to expect him to get her point at once. It took a while to extract the necessary information from her sparse words, but once he’d understood the problem, Jamie had assured her he’d take care of it.

  So he’d best screw up his courage and do so. Jamie opened the door to the morning room, finding the earl engaged in his evening ritual of playing a game of cards with Charles before going out to dine.

  “Bloody hell!” Stephen threw down a card. “Lucky at cards, my arse. I’ve been having the damnedest luck in both love and—” He broke off as he noticed his secretary in the doorway. “Mr. Riley.” His tone was decidedly cool.

  Charles took the final trick. “Euchred again!” The effort it was costing him not to gloat was transparent on his face, further annoying the earl.

  “Blast it,” he said. “All right, Charles, what’s the damage?” He scowled in Jamie’s direction. “What the devil do you want?”

  “Twelve shillings,” replied Charles generously, the actual total being somewhat higher.

  “I have some financial matters to discuss with you, my lord,” Jamie said. “I was talking with Abby Sawtell—”

  “Liar,” growled the earl, pulling his wallet from an inside pocket and tossing a pound note at his valet. And when Jamie’s back stiffened, “Oh, not you, Mr. Riley. Please, sit down.”

  Charles rose quickly from the table. “I’ll just—um, many things to...” he trailed off, neither of the others paying the least amount of attention to him, and slipped quietly from the room.

  Jamie sat down. “Abby Sawtell had some ideas to save money in the stables. She thinks you have more horses than you need, which makes the feed bills unnecessarily high. Plus, of course, you could raise some funds by selling the extra horses. And... your nephews’ ponies. She thinks they’d be better off, and happier, at your country estate, where they could be put out to pasture, and perhaps the stable boys could ride them occasionally. Alex used to be able to exercise them in Hyde Park, but he’s grown too large to ride them anymore.”

  The earl lifted both eyebrows in amazement. “Abby Sawtell said all that?”

  Jamie grinned. “Well, not in quite so many words.”

  “I’ll bet.” The earl nodded. “Makes sense, though. Consider it done.” The corners of his mouth quirked. “And then, of course, do it.”

  “Yes, my lord.” How does one go about the sale of horses? Jamie was wondering, when the earl spoke again.

  “Lord knows I could use the blunt.” He stretched and glanced at his pocket watch. “I have a dinner appointment with a gorgeous redhead, and foresee many expensive presents in the very near future.”

  Not surprisingly, Jamie’s hackles went up. “My lord. Quarter day is coming up, and not only does your household prefer to be paid, but a new batch of bills is sure to arrive. Perhaps you could consider—”

  “Certainly, Mr. Riley... if in turn you could suggest a more economical manner in which to satisfy my desires? Perhaps someone closer to home?” And as Jamie turned pink, “No? Well then, I’m forced to seek the company of those who actually enjoy my kisses.”

  “Oh? And how would you know? You pay for your companions and, since they tend to be actors anyway, hasn’t it occurred to you that they might be acting?”

  “That’s quite enough,” the earl hissed, stung. “I know an honest response when I get it, even from you, and you’re about as cold as they come. Unless you care to deny...?”

  “I’m not —” cold, Jamie started to say, but realized instantly that pursuing that particular argument would only lead to trouble. “—not denying that you—that I—was half-asleep, and you took me by surprise,” he ended lamely. He ran his fingers through his hair, and, straightening his back, moved on to surer ground. “I’m not sure you comprehend fully the state of your finances. You are deeply, deeply in debt. Whatever you do, and I’m sure you’ll do exactly as you please, could you please keep that in mind?”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” the earl said, settling down. “And, of course,” he added with poisonous politeness, “I’m always eager to hear your next unusual idea for saving money. The candles quite had them all in stitches over at White’s.”

  Jamie couldn’t suppress a smile. “Then I have one you’ll dine out on for weeks. If, as you say, fresh roses daily are a non-negotiable—”

  “And they are,” his lordship said.

  “ —then why not build your own greenhouse? Charles could grow roses, my lord, for a fraction of what they cost to buy.”

  “Build a greenhouse for my valet?” The earl laughed. “People will think I’m totally mad.”

  “Yes, it does seem odd. That’s why I hadn’t brought it up before.” Jamie hesitated. “Well, one of the reasons.”

  “There are others? Amazing.”

  “Just one, really. I’ve done some thinking about this—it’s not totally impractical. There’s plenty of room in the back garden, and a nice southern exposure. There are gardening books in your library, with greenhouse plans, even. And you know, don’t you, that Charles dreams of growing flowers?”

  “I didn’t. But I’m not surprised, he does like to fuss over things.” He thought about it for a moment. “You’re right, it doesn’t sound so far-fetched.”

  Jamie nodded. “The major obstacle is the start-up cost. I’m sure the greenhouse would pay for itself within a year, but the construction expenses wouldn’t be cheap, and neither would the plants themselves. I’m not sure where we would come up with the money.”

  “There is that.” Stephen sighed. “I never had to be responsible before—you know that?” He looked at Jamie. “All my life, someone’s been bailing me out — my parents, my brother. Aunt Matilda. Who has thawed considerably toward me, thanks to you, but even she seems to think I should start looking after myself.”

  “It’s not just yourself,” Jamie reminded him. “There are nine more of us in this house alone, not to mention those at your Scottish estate, and God knows what other properties you have.”

  “Oh, the estate takes care of itself. My grandfather and
Aunt Matilda—she was his sister—set it up that way,” Stephen said. “Keep any of us from wasting the capital—I can’t touch that. All I get is my quarterly allowance. And until recently I had the freedom to treat that as pocket money.”

  “But surely, it did increase when you came into the title?”

  “Oh yes, considerably. Which just seemed to me like that much more to fritter away—and the loss of my brother and his family like a good excuse to do it.” Stephen shut his eyes. “So, here I am, thirty-four years old, and with nothing to show for my life but a mountain of debts and a title I never wanted in the first place.” He opened them again and laughed. “Sorry about the self-pity. I think I desperately need to get lai—” Somehow it didn’t seem right to get too coarse around Mr. Riley. “To get uh, into the company of the sort of men you disapprove of. Unless,” he said politely, with a wicked gleam in his dark eyes, “you wished to make the supreme sacrifice, for the good of the household?”

  Jamie tried very hard not to blush, shaking his head mutely.

  The earl glanced at his watch again. “Well then, I’m off. Do tell Charles not to wait up, won’t you?”

  Chapter Eight

  But as it was, his lordship was home before midnight, and in a foul mood. Luckily, his valet had the foresight not to take the night off and go over to Sam’s, having a premonition that the evening might not go as planned. Whether he realized it yet or not, Stephen was tiring not just of Julian, but his sort entirely: replacing one glittering male courtesan with another would no longer suffice. Charles hummed as he cleaned up the usual mess caused by dressing his employer, straightening the dressing room and then moving to make sure the earl’s bedchamber was prepared should he return home later. His and Rebecca’s plan was working: the kiss with Jamie was a definite good sign. Stephen had certainly been affected by it. He grinned to himself as he replaced the burnt-out candles in the obelisk-shaped candlesticks by the bed. Still tallow—Jamie had won that fight, and eventually he would win Stephen as well.

  Charles laid out silk pajamas and turned down the bed, then retired to his own small room adjacent to the bedroom, just to the right of the dressing room. He was dozing lightly over Tod’s Plans, Elevations and Sections of Hot-Houses, Green-Houses, an Aquarium, Conservatories &c. when he heard the earl return. He set the book down and came out, blinking a little, and greeted his employer pleasantly.

  Seeing Charles was home did not improve his lordship’s temper.

  “Didn’t you get my message? You weren’t to wait up,” the earl snarled, throwing his gloves in the general direction of the dressing table. Charles patiently retrieved them from the floor and moved to help his lordship with his boots.

  “Well, it was possible you wouldn’t come to an immediate agreement with—with—”

  “Mr. Kendall Ambrose, but don’t bother remembering the name. What the deuce was I thinking? His hair wasn’t auburn—it was orange.”

  “Like that lovely shade of Titian red-gold?”

  “Like carrots. And his face was all bony and angular. Nothing subtle about him in the least.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Charles, suppressing a smile. So much for cheekbones that could cut glass. Perhaps Stephen was coming to appreciate a more subtle form of beauty. “Wasn’t he at all charming?”

  “I don’t know,” Stephen said. “Charming enough, I suppose, if not very bright. I don’t think I could ever have a real conversation with him.”

  “Yes, and we all know how important that’s been to you in the past,” murmured Charles.

  The earl glared at him, but didn’t rise to the bait—yet. “I kissed him goodnight, but it was no good. He was so bloody practiced.”

  “What, unlike Mr. Julian?”

  “You know damned well who I’m talking about. Help me with this cravat, I’m being strangled.”

  Charles freed the knot, unwinding the starched neck cloth. “How should I know? You kiss so many.”

  “The mouse, idiot.” He punctuated his words by snatching the cravat and throwing it on the floor.

  “My, you are in a state.” Charles just managed to keep a smile from his face.

  “And why shouldn’t I be? Ever since he came into my house, everything has been topsy-turvy. The meddling little—”

  “His meddling has improved things tremendously around here—or haven’t you noticed?”

  The earl dragged a hand over his face wearily. “I’ve noticed. He’s doing all the things I should be doing, and he doesn’t even like me.”

  Charles put a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “He likes you.”

  “He said he didn’t like kissing me!” There was genuine hurt in the earl’s voice.

  “And you can’t think of any reason he might prevaricate? Think, Stephen! Jamie is so capable that it’s easy to forget that he’s just a simple lad from the country. And young, too. He probably thinks he’s over his head. Maybe he needs time, maybe he needs—”

  Stephen looked up, his face hardening. “Money. What else do I have to offer someone like him?”

  “You can’t think to—to buy Jamie?” Charles was aghast. “Please believe me, I know him well enough to know he would have an absolute horror of that.”

  “Everyone has a price. If not cash... let me think.” He bit a nail. “He does adore books, doesn’t he? And there was one in particular he seemed very fond of indeed. It had a torn cover, gilt edges, and very bright, rather stiff pictures.”

  “Not your brother’s Book of Hours?”

  “Yes, that’s it. He said it was worth quite a lot, but of course it won’t cost me a penny. Perfect, isn’t it?” The earl had the gall to look pleased with himself.

  The valet shook his head. “Please don’t. It would be a big mistake.”

  “Then what does he want? You tell me.”

  “I wager he wants what we all want.” Love, you dolt. But how to bring Stephen around to that? Charles thought about himself, and Sam. “He wants to be listened to. Respected. Admired. He wants help when he needs it, and the privilege of being leaned on in turn. He wants to feel special, and important. If you think he doesn’t like you, make him like you.”

  Stephen stared. “Egad, what a lot of work.” He waved his hand. “Just feel him out about the book, will you? And be a good lad and send the damn thing out to be rebound. I can hardly give it to him in that condition.”

  There was no one to turn to but Rebecca. “It seemed like such a good idea,” Charles said, over a cup of tea in the kitchen late the next morning, “to get Stephen interested in Jamie. Now it’s a disaster. You should have seen the look on Jamie’s face when I told him about Stephen’s offer.”

  “I can imagine.” Rebecca shook her head. “But it can still work out. Have you seen Jamie’s face when he looks at the earl? He’s no good at hiding his feelings. And his lordship must be desperate for our lad—that book must be worth hundreds.”

  Charles waved a hand. “No, that’s just what he’s used to. In all the years I’ve been with Stephen, he’s never had a real romance—from things he’s said here and there, I think he was burned pretty badly in his youth. I figure that purchasing his pleasures keeps him in control of the situation, so he doesn’t get hurt again.”

  “Well, what’s past is past. His lordship needs a good man to settle him down, and Jamie could use some stability in his life. If they just let the attraction develop, fell properly in love—”

  “Ha,” said Charles. “I tried just hinting to Stephen last night—” He took another sip of tea and shook his head. “I want him to settle down, too. I just don’t know if he’s ready.”

  Rebecca poured more tea, then stirred her cup. “They need to spend more time together. We know that they’re perfect for each other, they just need to figure it out. What can we do?”

  The earl took the news of Jamie’s refusal, and Charles’ suggestion that he give his secretary time, with apparent good grace. Well, why not? Worst kiss of his life or not, Jamie had kissed him back. There was fi
re in the little mouse—and unlike with Julian and his ilk, he didn’t have to wonder about its authenticity. It shouldn’t be too difficult to seduce his secretary, and worry about the arrangements later. And, thanks to Charles, Stephen knew that Jamie frequently fell asleep in the library...

  Jamie was wide-awake, however, that night when Stephen stealthily poked his head around the library door. Damn. The earl had left his card party early, and for once luck had actually been with him. He started to withdraw, but just then Jamie looked up, and smiled. Like a filing drawn to a magnet, Stephen entered the room after all, and walked over to the desk.

  “What’s that? Greenhouse plans?” He leaned in for a better look, his shoulder brushing Jamie’s slightly.

  “Yes, my lord. I’ve been trying to figure exact costs. I went out to a few glaziers, to price the panes.” The secretary reached over for some papers on his right, leaning away from the earl, who took the opportunity to perch on the left arm of the chair. When Jamie straightened up, it was to find himself in very close proximity to Stephen’s thigh. He stared at it and swallowed. “My lord?” he said with gentle reproof.

  Stephen sighed and moved off the chair. “Don’t you find me in the least bit attractive?” he coaxed, more teasing than plaintive.

  “I’m sure I’m one of the two people in the room with the highest opinion of your looks,” Jamie said. “But that’s neither here nor there. I like being your secretary. I like my work, and I’m very happy in this household. I want to stay here for a very long time.”

  “And somehow that precludes us being together?”

  “Doesn’t it? Let’s talk economics again. I cannot afford to give in to you, my lord. As small as the chance is that I’ll actually be paid come quarter-day, I need the security of having a position. Once you’re finished with me, do you think it’s likely anyone else would hire me? And don’t you dare suggest that I turn such a thing into a career.”