Reckless Need (Heart's Temptation Book 3) Read online

  Heart’s Temptation Book 3

  By

  Scarlett Scott

  Reckless Need

  Heart’s Temptation Book 3

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Scarlett Scott

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by law.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs

  Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book

  For more information, contact author Scarlett Scott.

  www.scarsco.com

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Preview of Sweet Scandal

  Other Books by Scarlett Scott

  About the Author

  A staid duke…

  Heath, the Duke of Devonshire, has been living a passionless life of penance after losing the woman he loved. Determined to do his duty, he’s in search of an innocent bride with a sterling reputation. A bride who’s nothing at all like Tia, Lady Stokey.

  A bold lady…

  The Duke of Devonshire may be handsome, but he’s as boring as a bowl of porridge. Or so Tia thinks until he carries her to her chamber and undoes half her buttons while kissing her senseless.

  A decadent desire…

  The moment he scoops the delectable Tia into his arms, Heath wants her in his bed, and he’ll stop at nothing to have her there. When they unleash the scandal of the century, they must face consequences that are deeper and far more dangerous to their hearts than either of them imagined. Will they find love, or was the reckless need between them doomed from the start?

  To my fabulous former editor, Grace. I can’t thank you enough for all the support you gave me over the years and for all you taught me. It was truly a pleasure to work with you.

  East Anglia, England, 1882

  f there was one thing in the world that Tia, Lady Stokey, adored, it was parties. Give her a good fête, an army of new dresses, an entertaining assortment of guests and she was a happy woman.

  Under ordinary circumstances, that was.

  Grumbling to herself, she trekked through the maze at the Marquis of Thornton’s hunting estate, Penworth, in search of her wayward charge. A mere hour after their arrival for a country house party, Tia had discovered Miss Whitney missing from her bedchamber.

  “In need of a nap, my bottom,” Tia grumbled, stalking around a corner. If only the hedges weren’t so frightfully high and she so irritatingly diminutive in height. But of course, that would have rather nullified the purpose of a maze, she supposed.

  The young Miss Whitney had declared the need for a respite after their travel through the countryside, and Tia had acquiesced. But suspicion had brought her round to collect the girl early, where she’d discovered only a note telling her that her charge had decided to take a restoring turn about the gardens instead.

  “Restoring indeed,” Tia scoffed, her ire growing with each step. She had a dreadful feeling that her charge was going to prove much more than a handful. After all, she recognized herself in the girl, and it was one of the reasons why she’d agreed to help introduce her to society.

  The sound of gravel shifting interrupted her cantankerous musings. She stopped, holding her breath to listen. It sounded as if Miss Whitney was perhaps just around the next bend, behind the thick hedges obscuring Tia’s vision. Smiling in triumph, she grabbed her skirts and hurried around the turn in the maze.

  “Ah ha,” she called out in delight. “I’ve found you now, you little minx.”

  But her moment of triumph was terribly abridged, for the noise-making culprit, seated on a bench before her, was not Miss Whitney. Nor, in fact, was it even a female. Quite the opposite.

  Dear heavens. Eyes the same wistful color as a summer sky met hers, stealing her breath. She stopped, her heart thumping as madly as a runaway stallion’s hooves. The man staring back at her, an open book in his large hands, a golden brow raised, was decidedly as far as one could get from the petite, Virginia-born Miss Whitney.

  “I daresay I’ve been called a great number of things in my life, but never yet a little minx,” drawled the Duke of Devonshire as he stood and bowed to her.

  “I must apologize,” she hastened to say, embarrassment making her cheeks go hot. “I mistook you for someone else.”

  A small smile curved his lips, drawing her attention to just how finely formed his mouth was. He had changed since she’d seen him last. He’d grown a beard. She swallowed, her heart continuing its mad pace. The duke had always been a handsome man, possessed of a rare masculine beauty that almost made him seem too perfect to be real. But the neatly trimmed beard took the purity of his features and rendered them somehow sinful. Seductive. Her cheeks burned as she realized she was staring and, to her greatest dismay, he’d said something to her.

  She had no earthly idea what.

  Bother it all, what ailed her? She’d seen Devonshire scads of times before. The boring manner in which he conducted himself had long since rendered her immune to his undeniable good looks. He was quiet, uninteresting. For the most part, he didn’t move in the same circles as she. In private, she referred to him as the Duke of Dullness. Why, then, was she turning into a silly schoolroom miss in his presence? A beard? An intense stare?

  Tia released her skirts, allowing them to fall back into place as it occurred to her that she’d likely been revealing far more of her limbs than she’d intended. That bright-blue gaze of his followed her movement, making her feel almost as if he’d caressed her.

  “By any chance, were you searching for a lovely young American, Lady Stokey?” he asked, saving her from further embarrassment.

  She didn’t know why, but she found it troublesome indeed that he thought Miss Whitney lovely. Tia shook the unworthy notion from her mind, reminded that she was charged with looking after the virtue and the conduct of a rather precocious young girl.

  “I was, Your Grace,” she acknowledged, dipping into a slight curtsy as her wits returned to her. “Have you seen her?”

  “About half an hour ago,” he confirmed, closing the distance between them. That smile still flirted with the corners of his mouth, almost as if he were enjoying a sally at her expense.

  Half an hour. Tia frowned. The girl could be halfway back to America by now. “I don’t suppose she told you where she intended to go next?”

  “No.”

  A great lot of help he was. Tia tried not to notice how very broad his shoulders were, how lean his legs. She glanced instead to the book he held. It was a volume of poetry. She’d never had much patience for verse. “I’m sorry for the interruption,” she told him, deciding the time for lingering was at an end. She needed to find Miss Whitney and bring the
girl to task. England was not Virginia. She couldn’t simply wander about as she chose, especially not as a young, innocent miss. She had a reputation to uphold.

  “Think nothing of it, my lady.” Devonshire still stood uncomfortably near to her, looking down with an unreadable expression upon his face. “I was merely enjoying a bit of solitude while I still could.”

  Solitude? Tia thought it an odd statement indeed but perhaps another indication of why she’d never been particularly drawn to the man. Aside from his undeniably arresting appearance, that was. She considered him now, her gaze dropping to his mouth of its own will before she forced herself to once again become ensnared in his riveting stare. “I confess I’m confused, Your Grace. Is not keeping the company of others rather the point of a country house party?”

  He nodded, appearing a solemn, lonely figure suddenly. “I daresay it is, my lady. For most.”

  She couldn’t help it. She knew she ought to be running after her errant charge, but there was something suddenly compelling about Devonshire. Here in the outdoors, the sun shining down upon him, the polish of his ordinary façade buffed away by the manner in which she’d caught him unaware…he seemed different to her. Almost dangerous. Certainly handsome. But sad too, as if he were a man who had never quite located his true place in the world.

  “But not for you?” she asked him quietly.

  “Ça dépend,” he answered, stroking the binding of his book absentmindedly.

  There was something about watching his long fingers that caused an ache deep inside Tia. It had been so very long since she’d been touched by a man. Too long, she reminded herself, else she wouldn’t be mooning over the Duke of Devonshire.“On what does it depend?”

  “The others with whom I’m expected to keep company,” he answered cryptically.

  “I see.” She frowned again, supposing she really should have left well enough alone. She had the distinct impression he didn’t want her there. “Then perhaps I should leave you to your seclusion after all. I don’t wish to further inconvenience you. Good day, Your Grace.”

  She spun on her heel, determined to beat a hasty retreat before she made any more of a fool of herself, tarrying over conversation with a man who would prefer to be left alone. A man she didn’t even like, no matter how attractive she found him. Yes, it was the beard, she decided as she hurried away. The beard had rendered him quite magnetic.

  Lost in her round of self-chastising, Tia wasn’t paying proper attention to her mules. They were delicate silk, horridly impractical for being outside and not at all the sort of things to be rushing about in. Her heel caught in the stones of the path, twisting her ankle and making her lose her balance at the same time.

  Pain shot from her ankle up her leg as she landed in an inglorious heap on her hands and knees. She must have cried out, because the duke came rushing around the bend, all the better to prolong her humiliation. Her ankle aching, she stared at his trousers in misery, wishing she’d had the grace to fall somewhere out of his earshot instead.

  He hunkered down at her side, his striking face coming back into her view. “Lady Stokey, are you hurt?” His voice was laced with genuine concern.

  “Yes,” she told him, grimacing when she flexed her foot and was met with another sharp twinge of discomfort. “My pride and my ankle are both grievously wounded.”

  He took her hands in his, turning them over to inspect her palms. They were bare because she’d been too intent on chasing after Miss Whitney to care. Devonshire was gloveless too, and the contact of his skin on hers gave her an unexpected jolt. He rubbed his thumbs over her lightly, lingering on the abrasions she’d earned in her tumble. “I’m afraid you’re bleeding as well.”

  She glanced from her raw palms to his face. He was unbearably near, so near she had great difficulty catching her breath. Good heavens. She had to compose herself. “I shall mend,” she said, trying for an air of unconcern. It wouldn’t do for him to know the effect he had on her. Why, she didn’t like the man. He was altogether unappealing. She preferred men who were eager and attentive, who knew how to kiss and woo a woman. Who were seductive and easy to understand and flirted with practiced ease. Men who didn’t hide in the gardens reading poetry, of all things.

  “Let me help you to stand,” he said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “On the count of three. One, two—” He pulled her up without waiting for her compliance and without waiting to say “three”.

  Tia leaned into the duke as she stood, wincing when the pressure of weight upon her ankle produced more pronounced pain. Oh dear, perhaps she’d sprained it. However would she contain Miss Whitney if she were hobbled like an old dowager for the entirety of the party?

  “I thought you said on the count of three,” she groused, rather cut up about the entire situation.

  First, her charge had disappeared. Then, Tia had reacted to Devonshire as if she were a smitten young girl straight off her comeout. Now she’d fallen in a heap before him. And she still hadn’t located Miss Whitney. This fortnight was certainly off to a marvelous start.

  “Put your weight on me,” he ordered next, ignoring her. “I’ll walk you to the bench, and then I’ll take a look at your ankle to see what damage has been done.”

  “No.” She tried to extricate herself from his grasp without success. “I don’t require your assistance, Your Grace.”

  “Nonsense.” When she continued to attempt her escape, he caught her up in his arms.

  Tia’s hands went to his shoulders for purchase, finding them just as solid and strong as they looked. “Good heavens, put me down at once,” she told him. If his proximity before had been tempting, it was now alarming. She could smell his scent, a deliciously masculine blend of soap, spice and the outdoors. She could feel the fine fabric of his jacket beneath her fingertips. His golden hair curled down over his collar, brushing against her as he moved. And she could detect the faintest flecks of gray in his otherwise perfectly blue eyes. It didn’t escape her notice that he’d scooped her up without a bit of strain, as though she weighed little more than a handful of feathers.

  He disregarded her request to put her back on her own two feet and carried her to the bench where he’d been sitting when she’d first interrupted him. He gently lowered her to its hard surface, and she had to secretly admit that she was somewhat disappointed to no longer be in his arms. When he sank to his knees before her, reaching beneath her skirts, her disappointment turned to dismay.

  “Your Grace,” she protested. “What are you about?”

  “Hush,” he dismissed her concerns, his hand closing around the ankle that was giving her pain. “I’m seeing to your injury.”

  “You needn’t.” She endeavored to pull her limb from his grasp, to no avail. His touch was warm and gentle through her stockings. A sudden rush of awareness threatened to swallow her whole. A wicked, luxurious heat settled between her thighs. She tamped it down. “For heaven’s sake, I’m fine. I’m merely in a bit of pain, but it shall pass.”

  But his fingers were already gently at work, angling her foot this way and that. “It would be remiss of me not to make certain you haven’t done yourself serious harm. You took quite a spill.”

  Oh dear. Little more than a dull throb plagued her ankle now, but another throb had taken up residence within her. A decidedly naughty one. She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Truly, Your Grace. This is most improper.”

  He was insistent in playing the role of savior. “Does this hurt?” He pressed his thumb against her inner foot.

  “No.” Quite the opposite. It felt wonderfully good. Too bad he was not at all the sort of man for an inamorato. The wickedness in her pulled her skirts just a bit higher anyway, revealing the curve of her calf.

  The duke’s touch moved north as well, feeling suspiciously like a caress. “What of this?”

  She flinched when he found the exact spot on her ankle where the soreness originated. “Yes.”

  He stopped his ministrations and glanced up, his gaze mee
ting hers. She wondered if he could tell she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended and hoped not. He moved her foot again with one hand while holding her ankle with the other. “I don’t think you’ve broken anything, fortunately. But it does feel a trifle swollen. More than likely, you’ve sprained it. You’ll need to rest for the remainder of the day.”

  Tia scoffed, doing her best to disregard his lingering touch. “I haven’t time to rest. I have a wayward young American to locate and browbeat to within an inch of her wretched life.”

  “That sounds pressing indeed,” he told her solemnly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to enlist someone else to help hunt your charge down for the life-threatening browbeating.”

  He released her ankle and pulled her skirts back into place. Tia felt the loss of his touch like an ache. This ridiculous reaction to him had to stop. She’d been a widow for several years, but she took great care with her lovers. She didn’t simply set her cap for a man because he was beautiful and happened to touch her ankle and had a deliciously rakish beard.

  Tia stared at him as he stood, an idea taking root in her mind. Yes, it was the perfect solution for her sudden, inconvenient and thoroughly foolish attraction to the Duke of Devonshire. After all, it would be a wonderful coup for Miss Whitney to bring a duke up to scratch. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to assist me in locating Miss Whitney?” she asked, giving the duke her most charming smile.

  He nodded, picking up the book that he’d abandoned on the bench when he’d rushed to her rescue. “Of course, my lady. But in the meantime, I fear you’ll need my aid to escape from the maze first.” He offered her his arm.

  Tia took it, allowing him to tug her to her feet. Her ankle still hurt but not nearly as badly as it first had after her inconvenient spill. “Thank you, Your Grace. You’re most kind.” And easily trapped, she hoped. For it would certainly be a boon to her if she could settle the troublesome Miss Whitney with a suitable gentleman at the first opportunity. A man very much like the Duke of Devonshire.