To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(21)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Her son’s lower lip puckered out in a pout. “But—”

“Daniel,” Emeline said in warning, “you mustn’t badger Mr. Hartley when he has been so kind as to let you help him with his gun.”

Mr. Hartley frowned as if she’d said something wrong. “I was very pleased to have Danny’s help—”

“His name is Daniel.” The words were out before she could check them. Her tone was too sharp.

He stared at her, his mouth thinning.

She glared back, thrusting out her chin.

He said slowly, “Daniel worked well today. He isn’t bothering me.”

Her son beamed as if he’d been given the most extravagant praise. She should be grateful that Mr. Hartley was so kind, that he knew exactly what to say to a small boy. Instead, she was vaguely peeved.

Mr. Hartley smiled back at Daniel and then bent to pick up the cloths and oil. “You’ll probably be busy tomorrow morning, preparing for the ball.”

Emeline blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Why, no. There are many preparations if one is throwing a ball, but as we are simply attending—”

“Good.” He glanced up, his brown eyes laughing, and Emeline suddenly realized she’d walked straight into a trap. “Then you’ll be able to accompany me to view Mr. Wedgwood’s pottery. I should like a feminine perspective on what to order.”

She opened her mouth to say something that she’d no doubt regret later but was saved by the voice of Mr. Smythe-Jones.

“My lord? Lord Eddings?”

Daniel hunched his shoulders and whispered, “Don’t tell him I’m here.”

Emeline frowned. “Nonsense. Go to your tutor at once, Daniel.”

“But—”

“Best to do as your mother says,” Mr. Hartley said quietly.

And miraculously, her son shut his mouth. “Yes, sir.” He went to the wall and called over, “I’m here.”

They heard the thin voice of the tutor. “Whatever are you doing over there? Come down at once, Lord Eddings!”

“I—”

Mr. Hartley leapt onto the marble bench that sat against the wall. For such a big man, he moved lithely. “Danny was visiting me, Mr. Smythe-Jones. I hope you don’t mind.”

Startled murmuring came from over the wall.

“Come on, Danny.” Mr. Hartley made a step with his hands. “I’ll give you a leg up.”

“Thanks!” Daniel stepped into the big hands and Mr. Hartley gently lifted him up. The boy scrambled to the top of the wall and then onto the big crab-apple branch that lay just over it. In a moment he was gone.

Emeline looked at the toes of her shoes as she listened to the tutor remonstrating with her son, his voice fading as they walked back to the house. She twisted a bit of ribbon on her overskirt. Then she looked up.

Mr. Hartley was watching her from atop the bench. He jumped lightly to the ground, landing just a little too close to her, his coffee-brown eyes intent. “Why don’t you want me to call your son Danny?”

She pursed her lips. “His name is Daniel.”

“And Danny is the nickname for Daniel.”

“He’s a baron. He will sit in the House of Lords one day.” The ribbon was digging into the soft pads of her fingers. “He doesn’t need a nickname.”

“Need it, no.” He stepped even closer to her so that she was forced to look up in order to continue meeting his eyes. “But what harm does a nickname do a little boy?”

She inhaled, realizing as she did so that she could smell him, a combination of gunpowder, starch, and gun oil. The scent should have been repulsive, but she found it strangely intimate instead. And the intimacy was arousing. How awful.

“It was his father’s name,” she blurted. The ribbon broke.

He stilled, his big body poised as if to pounce. “Your husband?”

“Yes.”

“It reminds you of him?”

“Yes. No.” She waved the suggestion away. “I don’t know.”

He began a slow prowl around her. “You miss him, your husband.”

She shrugged, fighting down the urge to twist and face him. “He was my husband for six years. It would be very odd if I didn’t miss him.”

“Even so, it doesn’t follow that you would miss him.” He had meandered behind her and now spoke over her shoulder. She imagined that she could feel his breath against the spot behind her ear.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you love him?”

“Love is not a consideration in a fashionable marriage.” She bit her lip.

“No? Then you do not miss him.”

She closed her eyes and remembered laughing blue eyes that had teased. Soft, pale hands that had been unbearably gentle. A tenor voice that had talked and talked about dogs and horses and phaetons. Then she remembered that pale face, unnaturally drawn, all the laughter gone, lying against black satin in a casket. She didn’t want those memories. They were too painful.

“No.” She turned blindly to the house and a way out of this too-close garden and the man who stalked her. “No, I do not miss my husband.”

Chapter Six

Well! The king was very grateful to the guard who had saved his life single-handedly. All hailed Iron Heart as a hero, and he was immediately made the captain of the king’s guard. But though everyone asked the valiant captain his name, he would not say a word. This stubborn refusal to speak rather vexed the king, who was a man used to having his own way in such matters. However, even that little worry was put aside when one day the king was out riding and a terrible troll decided to make the king his lunch. Clang! Thump! Iron Heart charged forward and soon separated the troll’s head from his body….

—from Iron Heart

Emeline awoke to the curtains being pulled back on her bed. She blinked sleepily up into the face of Harris, her lady’s maid. Harris was a wooden-faced woman of at least five decades with a large, bulbous nose that dominated the rest of her more-petite features. Emeline knew of many ladies who complained that their personal maids spent too much time gossiping and flirting with the menservants in the household.

Such was not the case with Harris.

“There is a Mr. Hartley waiting in the downstairs hall for you, my lady,” Harris said stonily.

Emeline glanced blearily at her bedroom window. The light seemed quite pale. “What?”

“He says that he has an appointment with you, and he will not leave until he sees you.”