The Price of Temptation by Lecia Cornwall Page A

But Rutherford managed to return from every fight unscathed, and covered in glory.
    The day the vowel came due, Creighton was unable to pay it. He’d gone on patrol hating the man.
    He ignored the neat rows of pearls and the garnet earrings, and pulled up the velvet lining of the drawer, searching for the key he knew must be there. Dust flew up at him, choking him.
    It had been very dusty that day in Spain too, on the remote mountain road where he’d happened upon the pretty wife of a French officer, her coach crippled by a broken wheel. She’d faced her enemies with admirable bravery. Her husband was a wealthy colonel, she said, and would pay handsomely for her safe return.
    Creighton had seen the possibilities at once, financial and otherwise. He let her write a note and send her driver running to her husband with it.
    Then he’d given her maid to his men to keep them busy while he took his pleasure with the lady.
    Sinjon Rutherford had found him in a most dishonorable position when he arrived, with his breeches around his ankles as he knelt between the lady’s naked thighs.
    The woman started screaming, pleading with Rutherford in French, begging for help. Rutherford had sent him sprawling with a single punch, disgust clear in his eyes. With his breeches down, he couldn’t fight back, or defend himself. Now was that honorable?
    By the time he got to his feet and found his sword, Rutherford had given the woman his coat to cover her torn bodice, and had her behind him, under his protection. The captain’s sword was pointed at his throat.
    “Don’t be a prude, Rutherford,” Creighton murmured to the silence of his aunt’s chamber, recalling what he’d said then. “She’s the enemy.” He ripped the velvet lining out of the drawer and tossed it aside.
    “She’s a woman, not a soldier, Creighton,” Rutherford had replied.
    Creighton had tried playing the superior officer card. “Why are you here, away from camp, Captain?”
    “I’ve come to collect my money. I wanted to be first in line, since you owe so much to so many others.”
    Creighton had smiled, thinking luck was on his side after all. They were alone, except for the lady. A quick sword thrust was all it would take to cancel the debt.
    “Please, Captain,” the woman pleaded. “I have sent a note to my husband. He is Colonel Jean-Pierre d’Agramant. He will come for me, pay for my safe return.” She didn’t look so pretty now, Creighton had thought, with her mouth bloodied by his fist, but she’d fought like a tigress, and he was still aroused. Once he killed Rutherford, he’d take her next to his corpse.
    “You see, Rutherford? She’s about to be ransomed. An afternoon’s sport won’t harm her. When her husband arrives, he’ll pay me, and I’ll pay you.” He reached for the flask in his pocket and held it out. “Let’s have a drink while we wait. It will be some while before her husband gets here. We might as well pass the time pleasantly. I’ll even let you go first.”
    As long as he lived, Creighton knew he would never forget the way Rutherford’s face twisted with revulsion.
    He tore open yet another drawer in the damned Chinese puzzle of a jewel box, and scattered the contents.
    “We’ll wait for the Colonel, Creighton, without harming the lady,” Rutherford had said.
    For a moment after that, things began to look up. His men emerged from the bushes, fastening their flies. They assessed the situation—and their own guilt—and chose to side with him. They took Rutherford’s sword, held him at musket point.
    Creighton stripped Rutherford’s coat from the Frenchwoman and began to drag her away for a little privacy.
    “I’ve heard d’Agramant is the best swordsman in France,” Rutherford called after him. “Rape his wife, and he’s more likely to kill you than pay you. Is an afternoon’s sport worth your life?”
    That had certainly shriveled any hope of enjoying the lady’s favors, and his men started to mutter