Never Resist Temptation by Miranda Neville Page B

me bathing in the lake here and played hide-and-seek. She’d tell me stories, and she would laugh and laugh.” He felt his heart squeeze tight with mingled pain and pleasure at the recollection of those lost halcyon days.
    â€œWhat happened?” she whispered, standing close to him. Her eyes were huge and glowed with sympathy. He could drown in their chocolate depths.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said bleakly. “My father took her to France after my sister was born, and when they returned she was different. I don’t think she ever smiled again.” He turned away from her and stared unseeing at the hamlet. He could feel the weight of incipient tears behind his eyes. Instinctively his shoulders hunched and his head dropped to hide his grief.
    Damn it, where had this sudden weakness come from? He was never sentimental. He faced life as he found it and did what needed to be done.
    â€œIt was a long time ago,” he said, stiffening his spine. He wanted to reject Jane Castle’s compassion. He didn’t need it. “There’s no point dwelling on it.”
    Forcing his emotions into the deep recesses of his mind where they belonged, he made his voice as un-yielding as his stance. “I was going to summon you later to discuss a house party I am planning. We might as well do that now. I want my guests to enjoy the best confections you can produce.”
    She gave him a look that, he feared, meant she wasn’t fooled by his change of subject and knew exactly how affected he had been. But she didn’t say anything. How could she? She was only a servant, after all.
    â€œCertainly, my lord,” she answered agreeably. “What dishes would you like me to make?” The wicked glint in her eye told him she wasn’t letting him off entirely. She was well aware he had no idea how to answer that particular question.
    He waved his hand dismissively. “I leave that for you to decide, Miss Castle. Earn your princely salary and impress my guests.”
    She tilted her head proudly. “I assure you, my lord, I can impress anyone.”
    He had the urge to ruffle her composure, to repay her for the turmoil in his heart caused by speaking of his mother.
    â€œOne of the guests will be a particular connoisseur of your art, a lover of confectionary on a par with the Prince Regent,” he said. “Lord Candover.”
    He watched closely for her reaction and wasn’t disappointed. She blanched.

Chapter 6
    â€œA nthony,” croaked the dying man, reaching out feebly to his son.
    Anthony stood at his father’s bed and took the offered hand. The long fingers, so like his own in shape and size, were cool and paper-dry. They felt desperately frail in contrast to the warmth and vigor of his own.
    His father was dying. The physician said it wouldn’t be much longer now. The old earl had sent the doctor, nurse, and his younger offspring out of the room, leaving him alone with his heir. The wasting disease that had sapped his vitality over the past months left him without strength, but Anthony sensed rather than felt his father tug him closer. He leaned over the bed so that the old man could look him full in the face. The dull blue eyes stared at him intensely.
    â€œCatherine,” the earl murmured. Anthony wondered if he had been mistaken for his mother. He’d always been the image of her, a masculine version of the beauty who had dazzled London society in her heyday. He waited, saying nothing.
    â€œCatherine,” his father repeated. “I loved her.”
    Anthony knew that. His father had never recovered from her death. Ever an undemonstrative man, he had completely withdrawn into himself after the loss of his wife.
    â€œI loved her,” the earl continued, “but she was never the same after France.”
    Anguish pierced his father’s customary dry tones, and Anthony wanted to offer comfort.
    â€œI loved Mama too, Father,” he said.