Beyond Temptation

CHAPTER THREE





Avery spent the rest of the morning and entire afternoon with Rupert Sweeney. She’d asked about where to find him and beaten him to making contact. He lived alone in a two story house not far from the inn. Every downstairs room save the kitchen had undergone conversion to library space. Rupert proved middle-aged, extremely intelligent and obviously gay.



They’d hit if off right away. He’d opened the door, taken one look at her and dragged her inside as he fired questions at her like missiles.



His enthusiasm moved her to confess her intention to write a novel. He’d volunteered every resource he’d accumulated and offered to help her write a mirror non-fiction manuscript to put after the imagination-inspired text.



The afternoon flew by amid tea and chatter. At five they had with shrimp salad sandwiches and fruit. Time flew so quickly that she’d barely had time to run back to the inn for her camera and a quick change into dressier clothes, and still reach Prayer Park before seven-thirty.



She stopped the mini before the towering iron gates of Prayer Park. Staring up at the massive house on the hill, Avery hesitated. The place looked like someone copied and pasted it from a gothic film’s web page. A mile of lonely pastureland separated the estate from the village. Maybe she should have invited Rupert to tag along on this little jaunt.



The gates began to open and she jumped, glanced around. A sleek surveillance camera mounted atop one of the gate posts answered the question of why. No doubt she’d been seen. Too late to tuck tail and run.



Driving up the wide road, Avery concentrated on what she stood to gain from this. A man dressed in servant’s livery hurried out to meet her. She rolled down the window. “My name’s Avery Fitz Gerald. I have an invitation.”



“Yes, miss. Allow me to park the auto.”



She put the car in neutral, set the brake and gathered her things. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, but thank you.” She climbed out, smoothed her loose hair from her face.



“Go right in, Lord de Beauchamp is expecting you.”



Lord de Beauchamp. Wow. Avery patted herself for making the effort to change into a skirt and blouse. She walked up the flagstone path to the enormous twin doors. Made of wood and steel, they looked more suited to a castle.



Putting her hand to the big handle, she turned and pushed.



Avery entered, closing the door behind. The three or so story foyer boasted a gray marble floor inlaid with a mosaic of a battle scene. A staircase at least twelve feet wide lead upward, curving slowly to split into smaller twins. Avery tilted back her head. A mural on the ceiling mirrored the picture on the floor.



“It pleases me you accepted my invitation.”



She stifled a gasp. He stood at the base of the stairs. Big, dark and exotic. Long black hair hung loose to his broad shoulders. His eyes caught the low light, their almond-shaped outline slightly slanted. Even at this distance their irises’ peculiar dark hazel hue stood out vividly. Black-brown with gold. His straight nose was very fine, cheekbones high and stark. He wore a mustache and goatee trimmed close and sharply defined. It framed his mouth, drawing attention to the frankly sensual shape. Maybe the sinister edge added by the frame caused it, but Avery thought she saw something cruel in his lips.



Dressed entirely in black, he cut a menacing figure. A lean tapered silhouette that hinted of lethal, animal brawn.



He looked like the Devil.



She hesitated, vacillating between proper manners and something that felt acutely like self-preservation. Comportment won. She walked over to him.



“Thank you very much for the generous invitation.” Intimidation snaked through Avery. Up close he became more ominous. He radiated heat and he smelled of virile male and ambergris. “Please forgive me, I don’t know the correct address.”



Those glowing eyes moved over her in a proprietary way that made her breath hitch. “Call me Malec.” His accent made her think of the continent. French, yet not quite. Faint, but stubbornly clinging to each word.



MdB.

Malec de Beauchamp.



She knew enough history to recognize the aristocratic surname as dating to the Norman conquest.



Avery caught herself staring at the way the muscles of his body pushed at his elegant clothes.



“Would you like to see?” he queried.



She blushed so hotly it hurt. Even as he extended a hand in what she perceived the direction of the library, she could only think of him.



Avery nodded, moved ahead. His hand settled lightly at the base of her back. Every inch of her skin reacted. The walk through arching halls seemed to stretch eternal.



“The room itself has changed little since the monks built it,” he said. “May I take your coat?”



Avery entered through the iron and timber doorway, shrugging out of the garment, absorbed by what she saw.









Malec laid her coat across the back of straight-backed chair by the door. He watched her move about the low-ceilinged library. The wonder in her expression baited his temper. Such a look should come drawn by a lover’s touch.



With her attention monopolized by the books and antiques, he could observe her freely. She dressed in simple, conservative clothing that blurred the contours of her body. No matter. He’d seen beneath and memory served him well.



She pointed to a painting. “She looks like me.”



“Elizabeth Fitz Gerald, later Mallory. She married a viscount who visited here and became bewitched by her loveliness.” He remembered when Elizabeth broke their liaison. She’d wept and cursed at once. Less than a year later she brought her carriage through his copse. They’d renewed the affair for a fortnight. Then he sent her back to her husband. He’d cared for her a bit. Enough to decide not to further burden her conscience.



A little frown clouded Avery’s face. “Loveliness,” she repeated as if only to herself. “There’s too much here. I can’t even take it in, let alone make notes.”



“Then you must return whenever you wish.“ Malec wondered at the limits of his patience. Her in his house whetted his appetite, and having to court and coax came very new to him.



She stopped, hand to her mouth when she spied the climate-controlled cases. The veal skin parchments resided there, and the bibles he discovered when he first bought this property. More slowly, she continued to the cluster of small oils. “Are these real?”



His pleasure at giving this platonic delight surprised him. “Degas, Renoir, de Vinci.”



She stared at them, stepped close and reached out to touch them. “How can you live among such beauty?” Clearly distracted by the paintings, she murmured, “My life is so small, so dull.”



“Let me show you something extraordinary.” Malec knew he would cross the line. He strode forward, grasped her wrist in his hand and rather dragged her to the medieval-era looking glass at the other end of the room. He placed her affront him, holding her shoulders in his hands, and said, “There.”



She stared, blue eyes stunned, at their reflections. Fear and sexual response made her pupils dilate, her breathing hasten.



“I offer access to all you seek here.” He held her gaze in the mirror. “But make no mistake about my intentions.”



She flushed.



Because he couldn’t resist, he leaned down to smell her hair. His hand slid up to touch the silky curls. They twined his fingers at once. “What frightens you most? My desire or your own?”



She bolted. He chuckled.



Malec turned to watch her snatch up her coat and flee.



He wagered by the time she reached the inn, she would have reasoned her way around the fear of returning.



She would risk much for the information she sought.



Even more, the Fitz Gerald blood would lead her to his bed.







Avery parked the mini and switched off the ignition. She sat for long moments gathering her composure.



Despite the many accusations she would like to heap upon him, Malec De Beauchamp had done nothing she hadn’t desired on some level. He’d cut through the niceties, spoken and behaved with rather admirable candor. She just couldn’t handle that particular brand of honesty.



Her determination to explore his possession of her history remained unshaken.



Avery picked up her purse and coat and hurried inside. Brom stood in the common room, staring into the fire.



As soon as she closed the door, he turned. “Everything okay?”



She plucked up. “Of course.”



He scrutinized her. She suspected he knew she had lied. “I don’t mean to hassle you. It’s just you don’t have anyone. I feel responsible.”



She glanced around. Taking closer notice, she realized a small gathering in the eating hall left the two of them rather private for the moment. “What can you know about me?” Embarrassment and indignation mixed in her blood, close under the skin.



“I know your family is large and extended, but you all live your own lives.” He spoke with a certainty that floored her. “You haven’t had a real romantic relationship in many years.” He seemed to hesitate, lowered his voice. “Maybe not ever.”



Avery wondered if she looked as miserably caught as she felt. “How?”



“I told you my job teaches me to observe.” He came over, took her hand. “The way you protect yourself, kind of hide from the world tells me you don’t feel supported and protected. But you aren’t introverted by nature, so I decided you have family, just none you consider confidants.” He tugged a bit. “Let me walk you to your room.”



She relented. Having him walk her upstairs felt nice. He stopped outside her door.



“Do you want to talk inside?”



Avery gave it some quick thought. “No.”



“I knew about the other,” he explained, “because despite the fact you became almost desperate to scrape me off this morning, you never attempted telling me you had a man. Logically, it had been so long since you were in a relationship, it didn’t even occur to use it to get rid of me.”



At least he didn’t know about the worst. He only guessed at her relationship-challenged status.



She became conscious of their pulses beating together in their joined hands. Pulling free, she looked at him. He was big, sexy and smart. “I should go in.”



He stood by, a trustworthy sentinel as she unlocked the door.



Brom murmured, “Sleep well.”



Avery wondered if she ever would again.





~Talk to me, readers. KD