Julia Justiss - The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

‘You really do have no maidenly modesty, do you?’ he asked, half-amused, half-exasperated by her plain speaking.

‘Growing up in this household? I would have to be blind and dumb to have attained my advanced age still retaining any. So, no gently born young ladies of interest at the moment. Should you like me to be on the lookout for likely prospects, if I manage to get invited to entertainments where virtuous young maidens gather?’

‘Are you going to join my mother in haranguing? Not very sporting, when you profess yourself so opposed to marriage.’

‘Not haranguing and our cases are quite different. As long as I can convince Papa to allow me some wealth of my own, marriage offers me no advantages. Whereas, for you, gaining a wealthy bride whose funds would free you from depending on the pittance your family grudgingly doles out would make your job in Parliament easier. Obtaining a hostess like Maggie, who is intelligent, charming and interested in politics, would be even more beneficial.’

The wives of Christopher and his friends were admirable, the couples did seem happy in their unions, and everything she said about ending his money worries and having a capable hostess was true. ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m not ready to acquire the advantages of marriage yet.’

‘Not ready to give up your ladies, you mean.’

‘Let’s return to your situation,’ he said, having heard enough remarks about his predilection for the muslin company. ‘I meant what I said about asking Lady Sayleford if she would sponsor you. She’s truly as redoubtable as her reputation claims. If you must have a Season to bring your father around, she would be the best candidate to sponsor you. Anything I can do to help, you know I will, Temper.’

The amusement fled from her face, replaced by a sad little smile that touched his heart. ‘I know, Giff. You’ve been good friend to all of us for as long as I can remember and I do thank you for it,’ she said, reaching over to pat his hand.

It was meant to be a casual, friendly gesture. But her light touch resonated through his body with the impact of a passionate kiss. And produced the same result.

He froze, fighting the reaction. Unfortunately, Temper stilled as well, staring at her hand resting on his, her expression startled and uncertain.

And then, rosy colour suffusing her face, she snatched her hand back. ‘Yes, ah, that would be, um, quite... I mean, if I must have a Season, I would appreciate your approaching Lady Sayleford.’

Her voice sounded as odd as her disjointed words. Which must mean that the touch that paralysed him had affected her, too. He wasn’t sure whether to be satisfied or alarmed by the fact.

Maybe it was time to leave, before the randy part of him urged him to further explore that intriguing possibility. Setting down his teacup with a clatter, he said, ‘I must be off. Shall I call on my godmother and see what I can arrange?’

If the moment had been as intense for her, it had passed, for the look she angled up at him was all laughing, mischievous child again. ‘Yes, I suppose you must. Imagine—Temperance Lattimar gowned in white, making her debut among the virtuous maidens! That would set the cat among the pigeons, don’t you think?’

‘It should certainly be...interesting,’ he allowed. ‘I’ll call again later after I’ve had a chance to chat with her. Thank you for tea and goodbye, Temper.’

‘Goodbye, Giff.’ She held out her hand to shake goodbye—as they had countless times before—and must have thought better of it, for she hastily retracted it. Not that he would have been foolish enough, after his disturbingly strong reaction to her previous touch, to offer her his hand.

No matter how much he’d like to touch that...and more.

Irritated by the simmer of attraction he was having such a hard time suppressing, Gifford strode out of the room. Trotting down the entry steps of Vraux House after the butler closed the door behind him, he blew out a breath.

He’d been sincere when he assured Temperance that he’d do whatever he could to help her. He truly wanted the best for her. But the attraction she exerted on him seemed to only be growing and doing this service meant he’d likely be seeing her more often than the occasional meeting when he dropped by to visit Gregory.

The prospect of seeing more of Temperance Lattimar was both alluring...and alarming.

After watching Gifford Newell walk out, Temperance sat back on the sofa and poured herself another cup of tea.

Was she wise to let Giff help her? All she’d done was pat his hand and—oh, my! The bolt of attraction was so strong she’d been immobilised by it. So much that she forgot where she was and what she was doing, her brain wiped free of every thought except the wonder of what it might feel like to kiss him.

She didn’t seem to be doing a very good job of ignoring the attraction. Perhaps she ought to regretfully acknowledge that a complication had arisen in what had previously been a carefree, straightforward friendship, and be on guard against it.

The last thing she should do was allow curiosity to lure her into exploring where those impulses might lead.

And then she had to laugh. It was highly unlikely that handsome, commanding, virile Gifford Newell, who probably had never seen her as anything but his best friend’s troublesome little sister, would be interested in pursuing such feelings with her— even though she was quite certain he had felt the explosive force of that touch. Not when he already had long-standing and mutually satisfactory relations with ladies far more practised and alluring than she was.

Which was just as well. It would be unfair to invite him down a pathway she already knew she could never follow to its ultimate end. The mere thought of what that would entail sent a shudder of distaste through her.

Still, despite the uncomfortable, edgy feelings he roused in her, she enjoyed his company and counted him as one of the few people whose honesty and dependability she could count on. Though in the past he’d often exasperated her with his teasing, as she grew older, he’d begun to listen to her with an appreciation and understanding exceeded only by her sister’s. She simply refused to give in and let this...irrational attraction she didn’t seem able to suppress spoil a friendship she valued so dearly.

If she were forced to have a Season—and she didn’t see how she was going to avoid it, however unpleasant the prospect—she really would prefer to get it over with. She’d vowed, when she turned fifteen and first discovered the implications of her close resemblance to her mother, never to let anyone see how much the censure and unearned criticism hurt. No, she intended to meet society’s scorn with a public show of defiance—and weather it privately with fortitude. Though occasionally—if anger got the better of her, which it well might—she might be goaded into doing something truly outrageous, just to live down to society’s expectations of her.

The delight of doing that wouldn’t make enduring the rest of the ordeal any less unpleasant.

It really would be helpful to have Lady Sayleford guarding her back. Assuming, after meeting her and listening to Temper’s frank avowal of how she intended to behave, that lady was willing to take her on.

Doing so, though, would mean having Gifford Newell act as her intermediary.

It wouldn’t necessarily mean they’d see each other much more often than they did now, aside from the initial interview with Lady Sayleford, she reasoned. He’d just emphatically reaffirmed what she already knew—that, as he wasn’t ready to take a wife, he had no intention of frequenting the sort of Marriage Mart entertainments she would be forced to endure. He would simply turn her over to his godmother and go back to his own pursuits.