Running into Temptation (Bancrofts of Barton Park) Read online

  “Is that not what you did with me? Go where your whim took you?”

  Melanie thought about that. Yes, it was a whim that made her run away with him. A whim that could easily lead to disaster. Yet she was beginning to think it was the best thing she’d ever done. “I suppose I did, and it feels wondrous! Though I know I will have to answer for it soon enough, to my mother and my uncle, but it was wonderful to feel free for a while. Is that how you felt, when you left for the Continent? Did your family chase after you?”

  His fingers, which had been softly tracing her skin, went still. “My family was what urged me to go. My father died when I was a boy, and my mother didn’t have the energy to deal with a boisterous son. I was a terrible troublemaker, I fear, even when I was young. I spent most of my boyhood at school. It was her brother, my uncle Macintosh, who urged my mother to send me away with my cousin Henry. Said it would be the making of me.”

  “And was it?”

  “I suppose it was. Though not in the way he hoped. I found out what my own strength was, far away and on my own.”

  Melanie had also been on her own ever since she could remember. On her own, and never managing it all quite well enough. “I wish I could do that. My mother sent me away just so she wouldn’t have to think about me any longer. I fancied I was in love with the wrong man, you see, and I was sorely deceived.” She swallowed hard, remembering how heartbroken she was to find out the truth about Captain Whitney, and how her mother could not help her. “I don’t think she cared whether I found my strength or not.”

  “Have you?” Philip said. “I think you are very strong, Melanie. One of the strongest people I know. You aren’t afraid of being yourself.”

  He thought she was strong? No one had ever said that to her before. Mostly she had just been a nuisance. She sat up to study his face in the silvery moonlight. He was so handsome in the night, so solemn and austere. “Do you really think so? I never felt strong at all. Only weak and easily tempted. I never can seem to help myself from following my feelings, even when I know they are wrong and improper.”

  “Surely that only proves your strength. You are true to yourself, to your own heart. You should be admired for that, not condemned.”

  “As you have been condemned for being true to yourself?”

  Philip was silent for a long, tense moment. His face was smooth and expressionless in the moonlight. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. “But I have led myself into great trouble, as well.”

  Did that trouble include marrying her? Melanie lay back down next to him, curling herself into his side to make herself feel safe again. “Well, now we can keep each other from trouble. Starting with this visit to your uncle. Surely he won’t turn away a repentant and reformed nephew with a new wife? I am very good at charming irascible old people, like my own uncle.”

  Philip laughed. His arms came around her, and he spun her to the bed beneath him, kissing her bare shoulder until she could remember little else. “The respectable Mr. and Mrs. Carrington, eh?”

  “Most suitable to be your uncle’s heirs. But being suitable doesn’t mean being dull, does it? It doesn’t mean no more adventures.”

  “My dear Mrs. Carrington,” he whispered, his lips tracing her neck, “I think dull is the last thing you could ever be.”

  Chapter Five

  Melanie let herself out of the silent, sleeping inn and into the fresh, pale morning. It was cooler there, north of the border, than it had been at the village with her uncle. She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and headed off down the lane, barely restraining herself from skipping.

  It seemed like such a glorious day. A whole new, exciting beginning, just as she had been longing for. When she awoke in the predawn grayness, she couldn’t go back to sleep as her mind raced over all the new possibilities ahead of her. She couldn’t be still, but neither could she wake Philip who looked so gloriously handsome, so peaceful, as he slept beside her in their rumpled sheets.

  She was also half-afraid that he might not share her wild joy if she told him how she was feeling. He had confided in her last night, and his confidences showed her a way they could happily move forward together. Have adventures together.

  But what if that was not at all what he wanted, in the cold light of day?

  She wanted to hold onto every bit of happiness she could, for as long as she could.

  Melanie hurried down the deserted lane, peering into shop windows, imagining the lives that went on in those gray stone buildings. Lives different from any she had known before. She and Philip would see many such places together. There was so much to explore in the world!

  The only person she saw on her walk was an errand boy, hurrying past her on his task. He tipped his cap to her and then was gone. She came to the end of a row of cottages, where the road twisted away into the low, rolling hills. It was the same road she had arrived on, but this morning it was shrouded in mist, like torn bits of tulle caught on the gray-green landscape.

  For a moment, it seemed she was all alone, poised between civilization and wilderness—just as she had felt all her life. But then she heard the faint rumble of hooves on gravel, coming closer and closer. It seemed she wasn’t the only one up so early after all.

  Melanie quickly climbed over a rail fence at the border of a field, out of the way of any hurrying, careless traveler. A horseman emerged from the mist, moving fast, intent on some urgent errand. She had a glimpse of dark, sweat-dampened hair, a familiar profile….

  “Melanie! Is it really you?” the rider shouted. He drew in his horse in a shower of dust and swung down to hurry toward her. “What a piece of luck. It’s as if you sensed I was near, and came to meet me!”

  Melanie watched him with growing horror. Was this some sort of dream, or a nightmare? Perhaps this was her punishment for being too happy? For it was Captain Whitney hurrying toward her now. Captain Whitney, who had betrayed her. Why was he here, now, when she had finally forgotten him?

  She wrapped her hand around the fence post, and felt the wood dig into her palm. She wanted to yank it out of the ground and throw it at him, the foul deceiver.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, as cold and calm as she could make herself be.

  “My dearest! When we last met, you called me Bartholomew.” His steps slowed as he moved toward her. He still smiled, that ever so charming smile that had once drawn her in. Now she saw a grim strain behind the lightness.

  His smile was not nearly so beguiling as Philip’s.

  “And the last time we met, you told me you were engaged to another woman,” she said. “Has the nuptial event taken place? Should I wish you happy?”

  “My dearest Melanie, no. I came to my senses and realized you were the only lady for me. I rushed to tell you that, to beg you to stay with me, but you had gone. I’ve been searching for you for weeks.”

  He had been searching for her? Melanie shook her head. She remembered too well the pain she’d felt at his treatment of her, the hurt of his rejection. The way it had sent her to something better in the end. Melanie gave a humorless laugh, and held out her hand to keep him from coming closer. The morning light caught on her new gold ring.

  “Now you are too late, captain,” she said. “Today I am Mrs. Carrington. The wife of a much better man than you could ever hope to be.”

  Suddenly, like a summer storm slashing through bright sunlight, an expression she’d never seen before on Captain Whitney’s handsome face transformed him right before her eyes. A scowl twisted his mouth, and his eyes went dark.

  “You little harlot,” he said, as calm and easy as if he’d said shall we have tea? Somehow that very coolness made the words seem even worse. More threatening. “You went right from my arms to his? When you knew you belonged to me?”

  Belonged to him? Melanie suddenly felt very cold. She instinctively took a step back, trying to resist the urge to run. Something told her that if she fled, he would just chase her. That he would like to see her fear, as all bullies did
.

  And she refused to show her fear.

  She tilted up her chin and stared at him in challenge. “You are betrothed to another woman, as I should not have to remind you. How could I possibly belong to you?”

  Captain Whitney took another step toward her. “I was engaged to her only for convenience, Melanie. Surely you knew that. You and I could have been together in other ways.”

  “As your mistress, you mean? Tucked away in cozy little side-street rooms?” Melanie said, cold with the knowledge of just how close she had come to such a fate. If not for Philip…

  “But that was before I knew you were an admiral’s niece! An admiral who took some fine prizes in the war,” Captain Whitney said, his voice growing rougher. Louder. Melanie took another step back into the field beyond her fence. “Surely we could have made sure you were his heir. Then we could marry. But your whorish ways…”

  Suddenly, before she could run, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm in an iron-hard grasp. Melanie gasped, and twisted hard against him, but she couldn’t free herself. She couldn’t breathe for the fear squeezing at her throat.

  “Let me go!” she cried, her voice faint.

  “You are just like all the others,” he growled. His face came closer to hers, and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. “So pretty and sweet on the outside, but greedy and unfaithful at heart.”

  She stared up at him in a daze of fear. How very different he looked, all dark and twisted. How had she ever thought him handsome?

  “I am greedy and unfaithful?” she cried. “You are the one with a fiancée, who you have abandoned now as you did to me, just because you think I am an heiress. Well, I am no heiress, but my new husband does not care. He is twice the man you could ever be….”

  “Shut up!” he shouted. His hand shot out and cracked across her cheek, leaving fiery pain behind.

  Melanie’s head spun, and she was so shocked she couldn’t even cry out as Captain Whitney dragged her closer. His lips touched her skin.

  “Let her go,” a voice rang out, ice-cold. “Right now.”

  Melanie almost collapsed on a sob. Philip. Philip had come to her. Captain Whitney dropped her to the ground, and for a moment all she could feel was the pain when she landed.

  Her hair tumbled into her face, and she reached up to push it out of her eyes, trembling with the mixture of fear and relief. Then she saw Philip’s face, and his expression was distant and as cold as ice.

  * * *

  Philip awoke slowly, like swimming to the surface of a wonderfully warm sea. He stretched and chuckled, feeling lighter, freer than he had in a very long time. The problems that had weighed down on him like loops of steel chains for too long seemed to have fallen completely away.

  Who would ever have guessed that a woman could change the way he felt so completely? That suddenly he would realize something he had never known before—that he didn’t have to make his way alone in life. That someone could understand him, and not wish that he was different, better, than he truly was. Now we can keep each other from trouble, she had said. She had understood as no one else ever had.

  Philip laughed, and sat up to tell her the extraordinary way he felt. He wanted to look into her eyes, to kiss her….

  But she wasn’t in bed beside him. The sheets were drawn smooth, the pillows neatly piled up, her side of the bed cold to the touch, as if she hadn’t been there for a while. He quickly scanned the small room. Her shawl was gone from where she had draped it over a chair. The dress and chemise she had worn last night were also gone. There was no trace of her in the room, except for the faint lingering scent of her perfume in the air.

  The hard, cold knot in his very core grew and solidified into the certainty that no one could bear to stay with him. Not his parents, not his cousin. Now not even his wife.

  Philip threw back the bedclothes, and quickly pulled on his own clothes. He splashed cold water from the basin over his face and ran his hands through his hair. The chilly water helped him think a bit clearer. Surely Melanie had just gone downstairs to find some breakfast. She wouldn’t have run off so suddenly.

  And even if she had—why would he care? His whole adult life had been spent assiduously avoiding the snares of matrimony. He should be glad of the chance to escape them again, to be free and on his own.

  But, somehow, he was not glad at all. He was angry, and something else he couldn’t even recognize. Something that threatened to make his heart turn to stone and crack wide open.

  He hurried down the stairs, swirling on his coat and hastily tying his cravat. There was no one in the taproom, which had been so crowded and noisy last night, but the scent of stale ale and old smoke hung in the air. Only the landlady was there, sweeping at the stained floorboards, her face weary.

  “There’s tea by the fire if you want it,” she said.

  “Have you seen Miss Har—that is, Mrs. Carrington this morning?” he asked.

  She gave a snort of a laugh. “Lost her already, have you? I haven’t seen her, but the errand boy said he saw her leaving early this morning. Sneaking out, I suppose.”

  Lost her already? It seemed he had.

  “Can you arrange for a carriage for me?” he said tightly. “As soon as possible. I must leave for my uncle’s house immediately.”

  The landlady’s eyes widened in surprise. “Without waiting for Mrs….”

  “Now, please.” Philip knew it was no use waiting for Melanie. She had left him, as assuredly as everyone else had.

  The carriage came quickly, barely giving him time to throw his things into a valise. As it rolled toward the edge of town, he felt the old coldness descending on him again, the numbness that had carried him through so many days. It had left for a few moments, when he held his new wife in his arms, but now it was back. Perhaps forever.

  It was only beyond the crowds of the streets that he caught a glimpse of Melanie. She stood in the middle of a deserted field beyond a rail fence, her pale pink skirt a banner against the dark green. But she wasn’t alone. A tall, dark-haired man in a red coat stood with her—and reached out to pull her into his arms.

  A freezing anger swept over Philip as he watched the pair, seemingly entwined in a passionate embrace. He gave a bitter laugh, and started to turn away, to leave his wife of one day to her lover. To be proven right was a terrible vindication indeed. He was right to leave.

  But then he heard Melanie scream. Not a cry of delight, but a piercing shriek of raw fear. He spun back around to see her struggle in the man’s arms, trying to push him away. And then the man slapped her across the face.

  In one flash, burning fury replaced the ice of disappointed betrayal. Philip ran toward them without thinking. He leaped over the fence, barely realizing what he was doing. He could only see Melanie, only know that she had been hurt and he had to save her.

  Melanie saw him before the man did, for he had his back to Philip. Her eyes widened, and he could see the swirling fear in the blue depths. She gave a choked sob just as Philip seized a handful of the man’s woolen coat and swung him around.

  “I will thank you not to accost my wife,” Philip said coldly. Time seemed to have slowed down, the air around him chilly. He was overcome with rage that anyone would dare hurt Melanie.

  The man’s face twisted in such a contorted way that even if Philip had known him he wouldn’t have recognized him. He was sure he had never met the villain, but he wondered if this was the man Melanie had mentioned, the man who broke her heart.

  “Your wife?” the man sneered. “So you are the man who was fool enough to marry such a whore. She was mine first….”

  At the vile word whore, it was as if a red mist lowered over Philip’s vision, blocking out everything but his anger. How dare anyone treat a spirited lady like his Melanie this way? His fist drove into the man’s face, shoving him backward. The man shouted as blood spurted from his nose, staining his fine coat. Melanie screamed.

  Philip only heard her as from a distance. He could thin
k of nothing but the fact that this man had hurt her—and he had to protect her. His mind seemed to clear, as he frostily assessed his opponent. Gazing into the hate-brightened eyes above the broken nose to read that intent before the man launched a counter-attack. Every sense was heightened; his blood seemed to flow fast and hot in his veins.

  Once, when he was young and foolish, wandering the Continent with his cousin Henry and their wild friends, Philip had lived for such moments. He’d loved the danger and thrill of a good fight. It was one of the few times he felt truly alive.

  But now—now Melanie made him feel alive. Made him want to live, to see what adventure awaited them next. He just had to vanquish this one last enemy, for her.

  When he looked at the furious man across from him, he saw himself as he had once been. Empty. Seeking escape in wilder and wilder sensations. He knew with a sudden flash of deep knowledge—that was over for him.

  Philip finally saw the shift in his opponent’s eyes. He lunged toward Philip, his fists flying toward Philip’s face. Philip ducked and parried, landing a swift, hard right to the man’s vulnerable midsection.

  The two of them went down in a clash of blows. The man’s fury seemed to grow as Philip became cooler and more calculating. It forced his opponent to make foolish mistakes, become clumsy and blinded, which Philip took full advantage of. At least his misspent youth had been for something.

  Finally, he pinned the man to the ground. Sweat stung at his eyes and in his cuts, but a wave of victory washed over him. The man gave a stifled sob as he stared up at Philip.

  “Do it,” he sniffled, all his bravado gone.

  Philip laughed, and raised his fist to deliver the coup de grâce. Suddenly, a soft hand caught his, holding him still.

  “No, Philip, please,” Melanie said gently. “No more of this.”

  Philip’s anger faded as suddenly as it had come over him, and he felt weary. He looked up at his wife, shocked to see tears in her beautiful eyes. Tears—for the man who had hurt her? The coward Philip now held with his fists?