Temptation (4 page)

“Who's laughing?” Eden desperately cleared her throat. “I'm not laughing.”

“Yes, you are.” Candy sailed, like a steamship, to the head table. “You're just clever enough to do it discreetly.”

Eden sat, then carefully smoothed her napkin on her lap. “You've got mashed potatoes in your eyebrows.” Candy glared at her, and she lifted her coffee cup to hide a grin behind it. “Actually, it's very becoming. You may have found an alternative to hair gel.”

Candy glanced down at the cooling potatoes on her own plate. “Would you like to try some?”

“Now, darling, you're the one who's always telling me we have to set an example.” Eden took a satisfying bite of her chicken. “Mrs. Petrie's a gem, isn't she?”

***

It took the better part of two hours to clean the mess area and to mop up the puddles of water spilled by the inexperienced janitorial crew. By lights-out most of the girls were too tired to loiter. A pleasant late-evening hush covered the camp.

If the mornings were the worst for Eden, the evenings were invariably the best, A long day of physical activity left her comfortably tired and relaxed. The sounds of night birds and insects were becoming familiar. More and more, she looked forward to an hour of solitude with a sky full of stars. There was no theater to dress for, no party to attend. The longer she was away from her former lifestyle, the less she missed it.

She was growing up, she reflected, and she liked the idea. She supposed maturity meant recognizing what was really important. The camp was important, her friendship with Candy vital. The girls under their care for the summer, even the dastardly Roberta Snow, were what really mattered. She came to realize that even if everything she had once had was handed back to her, she would no longer be able to treat it in the same way.

She had changed. And even though she was certain there were still more changes to come, she liked the new Eden Carlbough. This Eden was independent, not financially, but internally. She'd never realized how dependent she had been on her father, her fiancé, the servants. The new Eden could cope with problems, large ones, small ones. Her hands were no longer elegantly manicured. The nails were neat, but short and rounded, unpainted. Practical, Eden thought as she held one up for inspection. Useful. She liked what she saw.

She continued her nightly ritual by walking to the stables. Inside it was cool and dark, smelling of leather, hay and horses. Just stepping inside helped to cement her confidence. This was her contribution. In most other areas, she still relied on pride and nerve, but here she had skill and knowledge.

She would check each of the six horses, then the tack, before she would consider her duties over for the day. Candy might be able to build a cathedral out of papier-mâché, but she knew nothing about strained tendons or split hooves.

Eden stopped at the first stall to stroke the roan gelding she called Courage. In her hand was a paper bag with six apple halves. It was a nightly ritual the horses had caught on to quickly. Courage leaned his head over the stall door and nuzzled her palm.

“Such a good boy,” she murmured as she reached into the bag. “Some of the girls still don't know a bit from a stirrup, but we're going to change that.” She held the apple in her palm and let him take it. While he chewed contentedly, Eden stepped into the stall to check him over. He'd been a bargain because of his age and his slight swayback. She hadn't been looking for Thoroughbreds, but for dependability and gentleness. Satisfied that his grooming had been thorough, she latched the stall door behind her and went to the next.

Next summer they'd have at least three more mounts. Eden smiled as she worked her way from stall to stall. She wasn't going to question whether there would be a Camp Liberty next summer. There would be, and she'd be part of it. A real part.

She realized that she'd brought little with her other than money and a flair for horses. It was Candy who had the training, Candy who had had the three younger sisters and a family that had possessed more tradition than money. Unlike Eden, Candy had always known she would have to earn her own way and had prepared for it. But Eden was a quick learner. By Camp Liberty's second season, she would be a partner in more than name.

Her ambition was already spiraling upward. In a few years, Camp Liberty would be renowned for its equestrian program. The name
Carlbough
would be respected again. There might even come a time when her Philadelphia contemporaries would send their children to her. The irony of it pleased her.

After the fifth apple had been devoured, Eden moved to the last stall. Here was Patience, a sweet-tempered, aging mare who would tolerate any kind of ineptitude in a rider as long as she received affection. Sympathetic to old bones and muscles, Eden often spent an extra hour rubbing the mare down with liniment.

“Here you are, sweetheart.” As the horse gnawed the apple, Eden lifted each hoof for inspection. “A pretty sketchy job,” she mumbled before drawing a hoof pick out of her back pocket. “Let's see, wasn't it little Marcie who rode you last? I suppose this means we have to have a discussion on responsibility.” With a sigh, Eden switched to another hoof. “I hate discussions on responsibility. Especially when I'm giving them.” Patience snorted sympathetically. “Well, I can't leave all the dirty work to Candy, can I? In any case, I don't think Marcie meant to be inconsiderate. She's still a bit nervous around horses. We'll have to show her what a nice lady you are. There. Want a rubdown?” After sticking the pick back in her pocket, Eden rested her cheek against the mare's neck. “Oh, me too, Patience. A nice long massage with some scented oil. You can just lie there with your eyes closed while all the kinks are worked out, then your skin feels so soft, your muscles so supple.” With a quick laugh, Eden drew away. “Well, since you can't oblige me, I'll oblige you. Just let me get the liniment.”

Giving the mare a final pat, she turned. Her breath caught on a gasp.

Chase Elliot leaned against the open stall door. Shadows fell across his face, deepening its hollows. In the dim light, his eyes were like sea foam. She would have taken a step backward in retreat, but the mare blocked her way. He smiled at her predicament.

That triggered her pride. She could be grateful for that. It had thrown her that, in the shadowed light, he was even more attractive, more . . . compelling than he had been in the sun. Not handsome, she amended quickly. Certainly not in the smooth, conventional sense, the sense she had always gauged men's looks by before. Everything about him was fundamental. Not simple, she thought. No, not simple, but basic. Basic, like his kiss that morning. Warmth prickled along her skin.

“I'd be happy to help you with the massage.” He smiled again. “Yours, or the mare's.”

“No, thank you.” She became aware that she was even more disheveled than she had been at their first meeting, and that she smelled, all too obviously, of horse. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Elliot?”

He liked her style, Chase decided. She might be standing in a stall that could use a bit of cleaning, but she was still the lady of the drawing room. “You've got a good stock here. A bit on the mature side, but solid.”

Eden had to ward off a surge of pleasure. His opinion hardly mattered. “Thank you. I'm sure you didn't come to look over the horses.”

“No.” But he stepped inside the stall. The mare shifted to accommodate him. “Apparently you know your way around them.” He lifted a hand to run it down the mare's neck. There was a simple gold ring on his right hand. Eden recognized its age and value, as well as the strength of the man who wore it.

“Apparently.” There was no way past him, so she linked her fingers together and waited. “Mr. Elliot, you haven't told me what you're doing here.”

Chase's lips twitched as he continued to stroke the mare. Miss Philadelphia was nervous, he thought. She covered it well enough with frigid manners, but her nerves were jumping. It pleased him to know that she hadn't been able to brush off that quick, impulsive kiss any more than he had. “No, I haven't.” Before she could avoid it, he reached down for her hand. An opal gleamed dully in the shadowed light, nestled in a circle of diamond chips that promised to catch heat and fire.

“Wrong hand for an engagement ring.” He discovered that the fact pleased him, perhaps more than it should have. “I'd heard you and Eric Keeton were to be married last spring. Apparently it didn't come off.”

She would like to have sworn, shouted, yelled. That's what
he
wanted, Eden told herself, letting her hand be passive in his. “No, it didn't. Mr. Elliot, for a, let's say, country squire, you have boundless curiosity about Philadelphia gossip. Don't your apples keep you busy enough?”

He had to admire anyone who could shoot straight and smile. “I manage to eke out a bit of free time. Actually, I was interested because Keeton's a family connection.”

“He is not.”

There, he'd ruffled her. For the first time since her initial surprise, she was really looking at him. Take a good look, Chase thought. You won't see any resemblance. “Distant, certainly.” Capturing her other hand, he turned the palms up. “My grandmother was a Winthrop, and a cousin of his grandmother. Your Philadelphia hands have a couple of blisters. You should take care.”

“A Winthrop?” Eden was surprised enough at the name to forget her hands.

“We've thinned the blood a bit in the last few generations.” She should be wearing gloves, he thought, as he touched a blister with his thumb. “Still, I'd expected an invitation and was curious why you dumped him.”

“I didn't dump him.” The words came out like poisoned honey. “But to satisfy your curiosity, and to use your own crude phrase, he dumped me. Now if you'd give me back my hands, I could finish for the day.”

Chase obliged, but continued to block her way out of the stall. “I'd never considered Eric bright, but I'd never thought him stupid.”

“What a delightful compliment. Please excuse me, Mr. Elliot.”

“Not a compliment.” Chase brushed at the bangs over her forehead. “Just an observation.”

“Stop touching me.”

“Touching's a habit of mine. I like your hair, Eden. It's soft, but it goes its own way.”

“A veritable bouquet of compliments.” She managed one small step backward. He had her pulse thudding again. She didn't want to be touched, not physically, not emotionally, not by anyone. Instinct warned her how easily he could do both. “Mr. Elliot—”

“Chase.”

“Chase.” She acknowledged this with a regal nod. “The morning bell goes off at six. I still have several things to do tonight, so if there's a purpose in your being here, could we get to it?”

“I came to bring you back your hat.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the Phillies cap.

“I see.” One more black mark against Roberta. “It's not mine, but I'd be happy to return it to its owner. Thank you for troubling.”

“You were wearing it when you fell out of my tree.” Chase ignored her outstretched hand and dropped the cap on her head. “Fits, too.”

“As I've already explained—”

Eden's frigid retort was interrupted by the sound of running feet. “Miss Carlbough! Miss Carlbough!” Roberta, in an angelic pink nightgown and bare feet, skidded to a halt at the open stall. Beaming, she stared up at Chase. Her adolescent heart melted. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Roberta.” Voice stern, teeth nearly clenched, Eden stepped forward. “It's almost an hour past lights-out.”

“I know, Miss Carlbough. I'm sorry.” When she smiled, Eden thought you could almost believe it. “I just couldn't get to sleep because I kept thinking about my cap. You promised I could have it back, but you never gave it to me. I helped Mrs. Petrie. Honest, you can ask. There were millions of pans, too. I even peeled potatoes, and—”

“Roberta!” The sharp tone was enough for the moment. “Mr. Elliot was kind enough to return your hat.” Whipping it off her own head, Eden thrust it into the girl's hands. “I believe you should thank him, as well as apologize for trespassing.”

“Gee, thanks.” She treated him to a dazzling smile. “Are those your trees, really?”

“Yeah.” With a fingertip, Chase adjusted the brim of her hat. He had a weakness for black sheep and recognized a kindred soul in Roberta.

“I think they're great. Your apples tasted a whole lot better than the ones we get at home.”

“Roberta.”

The quiet warning had the girl rolling her eyes, which only Chase could see. “I'm sorry I didn't show the proper respect for your property.” Roberta turned her head to see whether Eden approved of the apology.

“Very nice, Roberta. Now straight back to bed.”

“Yes, ma'am.” She shot a last look at Chase. Her little heart fluttered. Crushing the cap down on her head, she raced to the door.

“Roberta.” She whipped back around at the sound of Chase's voice. He grinned at her. “See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.” In love, Roberta floated off to her cabin. When the stable door slammed at her back, all Eden could manage was a sigh.

“It's no use,” Chase commented.

“What isn't?”

“Pretending you don't get a kick out of her. A kid like that makes you feel good.”

“You wouldn't be so sure of that if you'd seen what she can do with mashed potatoes.” But Eden gave in enough to smile. “She's a monster, but an appealing one. Still, I have to admit, if we had twenty-seven Robertas in camp this summer, I'd end up in a padded room.”

“Certain people just breed excitement.”

Eden remembered the dinner hour. “Some call it chaos.”

“Life flattens out quickly without a little chaos.”

She looked at him, realizing she'd dropped her guard enough to have an actual conversation. And realizing as well that they'd stopped talking about Roberta. The stables suddenly seemed very quiet. “Well, now that we've gotten that settled, I think—”