Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways, #3)

by Lisa Kleypas

He was as handsome as Lucifer, his features straight and defined, the mouth brooding. But he looked like a man who perhaps took everything—including himself—a bit too seriously.

“If I were going to molest you,” he pointed out, “I would have done so by now.” Her flush deepened at his bluntness. “So you say. But for all I know, you could be a very slow molester.”

“Loyal to a fault. I suppose if Rutledge told you to murder someone, you’d do it?” Although the question was asked in a light vein, the chef’s gray eyes were alert. Because no one, not even Jake, was entirely certain what Harry Rutledge was capable of, or how far Jake’s allegiance would go.

“What makes you think there’s a wild creature in my hotel?” Harry asked, as if the idea were inconceivable. The macaque chose that moment to utter an enthusiastic screech. Holding his gaze, Poppy grinned.

Really, they should levy a tax on London bachelors until they marry. That would hasten the entire courtship process.”

“Don’t ever trust men with good intentions. They’ll always disappoint you.”

“I don’t have any reason to be proud.” “I don’t either,” Leo said. “But that doesn’t stop me, does it?”

“My God. Something else we agree on.” Leo gave the companion a half-mocking, half-uneasy glance. “We have to stop doing this, Marks. My stomach is starting to turn.” “Please do not say that word,” she snapped. “Stomach? Why not?” “It is indelicate to refer to your anatomy.” She gave his tall form a disdainful glance. “And I assure you, no one has any interest in it.” “You think not? I’ll have you know, Marks, that scores of women have remarked on my—” “Ramsay,” Cam interrupted, giving him a warning glance.

“You were courted by a boy, who had to do as he was told.” His hot breath feathered against her lips as he whispered, “You should try it with a man, who needs no one’s permission.”

Harry Rutledge was too much of a mystery. Too experienced, too overwhelming in every way. He could never offer the quiet, ordinary, sane life she longed for.

Because being caught on the balcony kissing Harry Rutledge was not just a scandal . . . it would be the stuff of legend. She was ruined. Her life was ruined. Her family was ruined. Everyone in London would know by sunrise.

But this discussion, brief as it was, made it clear that there would be no helpful family coercion to make Poppy an honest woman. The Hathaways didn’t give a damn about respectability, nor did they need his money or his influence.

“If you succeed in marrying her, we’re not losing a sister. You’re gaining an entire family—who will protect her at any cost.” That was almost enough to give Harry pause. Almost.

“I’m everything they told you and worse,” Harry said without hesitation. “But what they didn’t tell you is that you are the most desirable and fascinating woman I’ve ever met, and I would do anything to have you.”

He gave her an innocent glance that didn’t deceive her in the least. “I’m trying to be honest.” “Perhaps. But you’re also making certain that whatever anyone says about you, you’ve already admitted it. Now you’ve made all criticism of you ineffectual.” Harry blinked as if she’d surprised him. “You think I’m that manipulative?” She nodded. Harry seemed stunned that she could see through him so easily. Instead of being annoyed, however, he stared at her with stark longing. “Poppy, I have to have you.”

In fact, Poppy had asked Beatrix why she hadn’t objected to the betrothal. “I think it might turn out to be a good pairing,” Beatrix said. “You do? Why?” “A rabbit and a cat can live together peaceably. But first the rabbit has to assert itself—charge the cat a time or two—and then they become friends.”

In fact, so many peers and virgins had been united in holy wedlock at St. George’s that it was unofficially and quite vulgarly known as the “London Temple of Hymen.”

“I will never forget that you took away the man I loved and put yourself in his place. I’m not certain I can ever forgive you for that. The only thing I am absolutely certain of is that I will never love you. Do you still want to marry me?” “Yes,” Harry said without hesitation. “I’ve never wanted to be loved. And God knows no one’s done it yet.”

Finally bringing herself to look up at Harry, Poppy flinched at the satisfaction in his eyes.

Michael Bayning should have had the bollocks to come to the church and carry her out bodily if necessary. But he didn’t. And if he wasn’t willing to fight for her, he didn’t deserve her.” He saw from Merripen’s quick blink that he had scored a point.

A simple refusal would be enough to deter me.” Damn him for toying with her like a cat with a mouse. “Is that true?” she asked with offended dignity. Harry gave her a guileless glance. “Refuse me, and we’ll find out.”

Attraction without trust . . . not a comfortable thing to feel for one’s own husband.

“Still not right,” Monsieur Broussard fretted, scowling at the dish of pudding as if it were deliberately being obstinate.

“I believe she would be a good influence on him, were she ever inclined to try.” “Nothing,” Jake said decisively, “will ever change Harry Rutledge.” “Still,” the housekeeper mused, “I think the two of them may need a bit of help.” “From whom?” Chef Rupert asked. “From all of us,” the housekeeper replied. “It’s all to our benefit if the master is happy, isn’t it?”

This is starting to feel beauty and the beast-esque

“Are you ever serious about anything?” she managed to ask. “No. I’ve found that life is far kinder to shallow people.”

He kissed her lightly, and smiled with such skillfully manufactured warmth that she almost believed it was real.

Men love to be forgiven. It makes us feel better about our inability to learn from our mistakes.”

Poppy was every fine, good, unselfish impulse that he would never have. She was every caring thought, loving gesture, happy moment, that he would never know. She was every minute of peaceful sleep that would forever elude him.

Seduction is merely encouraging a man to do something he already wants to do.”

“How can you trust me when you have no way of knowing if I’m worthy of it?” The corners of her lips tilted upward. “That’s what trust is, isn’t it?”

It occurred to Harry that the Hathaways were making a solid success of the estate not in spite of their lack of aristocratic heritage, but because of it. No traditions or habits had been passed on to them. There had been no one to protest “but this is how we’ve always done it.” As a result, they approached estate management as both a business and a scientific undertaking, because they knew no other way to proceed.

After a while, he murmured softly into the pale, fragrant curve of her neck. “I’m going to make love to you all night, Poppy. And the first time, you’re going to feel very safe. But the second time, I’m going to be a little bit wicked . . . and you’ll like that even more. And the third time . . .” He paused with a smile as he heard her breath catch. “The third time, I’m going to do things that will mortify you when you remember them tomorrow.” He kissed her gently. “And you’ll love that most of all.”

It was finally becoming clear to her that love wasn’t about finding someone perfect to marry. Love was about seeing through to the truth of a person, and accepting all their shades of light and dark.

“Most of the time I can’t tell the difference between his friends and his enemies. Some of his friends would love to kill him, and one or two of his enemies have actually named their children after him.”

“The interior of Marlow’s wasn’t nearly as pleasant as I’d expected. Oh, there was quite bit of mahogany paneling and nice carpeting, but the air was difficult to breathe.” “Why?” Poppy asked glumly. “Was it filled with cigar smoke?” “No,” he said. “Smugness.”

“Oh, have no fear,” Leo replied gravely. “I always follow the rules.”