Bound By Temptation by Lavinia Kent

doubt spread across her face, but she sat and, concentrating on the table in front of him, poured herself a cup, dousing it liberally with milk and sugar. She poured deftly, despite the tremor of her fingers, as if she had done so many times. Undoubtedly she had, although it did not fit with what he knew of her character.
    He picked up his cup from the saucer and, after a squeeze of the lemon, lifted it to his lips. It washard to keep his expression still. He felt like he’d stuck his head over the fire openmouthed. Not even the fresh taste of the lemon could cover the taste of burnt leaves.
    “It’s my stepson’s favorite blend.” Her mouth hooked up at one corner, and he knew his expression had not fooled her. He noticed she did not sip, but placed the saucer back on the table.
    “It is most unusual.” He took another sip. Really, it was not so bad. He could begin to understand the attraction. He allowed a small grimace to pass his lips anyway. He would grant her the small victory. She deserved it for staying.
    “You were going to speak of your sister,” she replied. “You know Violet is most dear to my heart.”
    He wondered how little he could tell her. As long as her questions focused on Violet and not Isabella and Foxworthy, he was safe. He could tell no one the full story. He sensed that she would not be so easy to deter this time. “I know. From what she has said, I know she reciprocates the emotion.”
    “I was not aware that you were in frequent communication with your sister. I cannot believe that I am an important topic of conversation.”
    “You would be surprised. My sister holds you in high esteem and uses you as a frequent example of what a woman can be.”
    A faint flush of color rose on her cheeks at the compliment. “But you do not.”
    “I do not know you.”
    “But that has not kept you from judging.”
    That was hard to answer. Such discussion always reminded him of his mother, and that could only lead a foul taste in his mouth. “I would admit to not liking what I have heard. I have never been fond of licentious behavior.”
    “Licentious. It is as good a word as any other, I suppose.” She picked up her tea and took the smallest of swallows. “It is much better with milk and sugar than lemon. But we are supposed to be talking of you and your relations, not mine,” she concluded.
    He took another sip, then leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes. “I was seventeen when my parents died.”
    With his eyes closed he could still see them as they’d looked that last day. His mother had worn crimson velvet, a dress she’d been particularly fond of based on the number of times he could remember her wearing it. She’d looked beautiful, but tired, as she’d prepared for another night’s revels. His father’s eyes had been shadowed as he’d said his farewells and donned his hat. He’d lost weight over the past months and his suit had hung a little loose. Other than that there had been nothing different from any other evening.
    Nothing different until the knock on the door hours later, after which his parents’ bodies were carried in. His mother had still breathed and she’d called for his father again and again, each call quieter than the last. At the very last she’d grasped his hand tight and whispered, “I am sosorry.” He’d never even been sure if the comment had been meant for him.
    His shock had only grown greater over the following days as the few details came forth. His parents had been shot returning from a ball—their carriage stopped by masked men. That was all anyone knew. There was talk of brigands and highwaymen, of a lover’s anger, but no true fact ever emerged.
    He was left with nothing. No knowledge. No single fact that could explain the devastation of the life he had always known.
    He was left with nothing. Only two sisters. Two sisters and endless bills—and that final secret, his father’s treason.
    “My parents died when I was