Pure Temptation Read online

  Pure Temptation

  By: Auria Jourdain

  Copyright © 2020

  Auria Jourdain Books

  All rights reserved.

  Edition 2

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Forward

  Prologue

  Part One: | Spies | and | Bloody Lies

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part Two: | Trust | Begets | Lust

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Part Three: | Forbidden | Temptations

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  The End

  About the Author

  Other Works by Auria Jourdain:

  Pure Enchantment | Book 3: Pure Escapades Series

  Pure Captivation

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Any similarities to any person, living or dead, or any business or organization are purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2020, Auria Jourdain Books. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means without express permission from the author.

  CAUTION: This book contains graphic adult scenes, adult language, and descriptions of violence that may trigger negative reactions. Suitable only for adult audiences as per your country’s laws.

  Cover art and photography by Earth and Sky Photography. All images legally obtained from stock photo companies.

  This book is also available in electronic form at all online retailers and in Paperback from Amazon.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my father, Duane Jordan, who died in 2018. He placed a deep love of history and politics within my soul when I was a young girl. Born and raised during the depression, my dad had seen more than most, and he made me aware of how important the common man is in our everyday lives. I will always treasure his vast wisdom and fascinating stories of life.

  Acknowledgements

  I COULDN’T HAVE WRITTEN this book without extensive research, and I read several wonderful books that gave me good insight into the Romani culture: American Gypsy by Oksana Marafioti and We Are the Romani People by Ian F. Hancock. The Romani have lived in a world full of hatred and intolerance for centuries, and I hope my book gives a good account of the prejudices people hold against these fascinating people.

  Forward

  I WROTE THIS STORY because I wanted Talon Barberry, one of my favorite characters from my first novel in this series, to have his happily ever after. Despite their status as fictional characters, I fell in love with Talia and Talon, and I hope I did their story justice.

  I’ve taken some artistic liberties for the sake of my story, especially regarding some of the Romani traditions. I apologize to those whom it might offend. I hope my story will intrigue others to read more about the Roma culture. I concluded the gadjo (white man)—me included—will never fully understand the true traditions of these fascinating people, and perhaps we aren’t meant to.

  New Orleans is one of my favorite places to visit, and I knew I wanted to write a historical romance that found it’s ending there. I’ve taken another historical liberty depicting the scene with the beignets and the café. The Acadians (Cajuns) brought the wonderful pastries with them from French Canada in the late 1700’s. The famous Café du Monde didn’t open its doors until 1862, even though I alluded to Talon and Talia’s presence in such a café.

  Part of this story is set in the West Indies in the late eighteenth century. It is a fascinating place with a rich history steeped in pirates (or buccaneers, if you prefer), as the French, Spanish, and English colonists fought for dominance and tried their hand at sugar cane, and of course, the root of all evil, slavery.

  I focused on Martinique and Guadeloupe because, despite being held by the British several times, the French influence in the West Indies is endearing to me. I do mention Saint Domingue (present day Haiti) several times because the slave rebellions during this period were most prevalent there. Even though the Haitian history didn’t fit what I wanted to accomplish with this book, I would love to someday write a novel set around their incredible tale of independence.

  Prologue

  GUADELOUPE, PORT CITY of Basse-Terre

  June 1792

  “Are your boys prepared, Henri?”

  As the heat of the sultry night permeated the air, L’Archambeau wiped beads of sweat from his balding head. Clutching the gilded finial topping his claw-foot cane, he patiently stood at the ready. The waning moon peeped in and out of the dense cloud cover, and he smiled.

  Lady luck guided their evening.

  Henri Munro gazed at L’Archambeau, his broken French dialect whispering on the wind. “Oui, M’sieu Archambo. Where ’da weapons, sah?”

  Nodding at his most loyal rebel, L’Archambeau patted the man on the back. “They’ll be here soon. I promised, mon ami. Oui?”

  The Creole’s mouth curved into a toothy grin and he crouched lower. Shadows swallowed his dark form as he disappeared amongst the nearby palms and ferns.

  As the din of the island’s nightly soirees overtook the evening, L’Archambeau searched the foliage surrounding him for Henri’s troops, hiding amongst the grasses of the surrounding mountains.

  He couldn’t see a soul.

  Taking a scope from his pocket, he scanned the harbor. Hopefully, those idiot Spaniards would get here soon. The much-needed munitions he’d promised his rebels were their saving grace. He’d been planning this for nigh on five years, his employer’s timely death giving way to his cause. Although, their quest had just begun.

  6 Weeks Earlier

  Hunched over his walking stick, Lord Thomas Smythe tapped his foot on the wooden floor. “Henry, make our guest comfortable. Mr. Chambers is a business associate of our esteemed Governor, Lord

  Jonathan Taylor.”

  “Oui, M’sieu.”

  Removing his cocked hat, L’Archambeau eyed his host. Smythe was a simpering idiot, but he’d been more than accommodating during his island trips. He bowed. “Merci, Monsieur. I appreciate your hospitality. I will not dally in my business.”

  Henri bowed his head and gathered the bags. “This way, M’sieu.”

  With a quick salute, L’Archambeau followed the manservant up the long, wooden staircase. He perused Henri. The man had aged considerably since his last visit. Beaten down by life, most likely.

  As they approached the second-floor landing, L’Arc
hambeau darted a glance over the railing. Sidling up to the slave, he grasped his bony shoulder. “’enri is it?”

  The man’s eyes widened as he halted. “Oui, M’sieu.”

  “What is your family name, ’enri?”

  With a furrowed brow, Henri tilted his head. “I belong to Massa

  Smythe, M’sieu.”

  L’Archambeau arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps. But you didn’t always serve him, n’est-ce pas?” The slave gave him a sidelong glance and leaned over the banister. He shook his head.

  L’Archambeau smiled. With the rebel raids in Saint Domingue fresh in people’s minds, plantation owners across the islands were looking for signs of mutinous slaves. Smythe would surely beat his servant if he overheard their conversation.

  It was the perfect opportunity to strike.

  He cleared his throat. “So, I ask again, Henri... What is your given name? My name is Monsieur Archambeau, and I trace my roots back to Paris, France.” As Henri’s dark gaze searched his, L’Archambeau leaned over the man and whispered, “And my actual business here is far more compelling than making a deal with the deplorable Jonathan Taylor. I’ve just come from Saint Domingue.” The whites of the slave’s glimmered, and L’Archambeau nodded. “Would you like to be free, mon ami?”

  Henri’s mouth gaped. “M’sieu?”

  Placing his arm over the man’s shoulder, L’Archambeau pointed to his room. “Come. I’ll tell you more.”

  The distant shot of gunfire jarred L’Archambeau from his reverie. Six weeks ago, Henri had taken back his family name. And everything was going according to plan. L’Archambeau had convinced the slave his intentions were pure—to fight for liberty in the colonies. With Henri’s connections, they’d gathered nearly four hundred rebels of all ages and sacked many a plantation, including Thomas Smythe’s.

  Henri pulled on his sleeve. “M’sieu, ’dat be ’dem?”

  L’Archambeau scoped the brigantine anchoring in the bay. A burst of crimson erupted over their heads, followed by a loud explosion. Patrons screamed, running to and fro along the city streets. Raising his cane, L’Archambeau turned to his protege with a smile.

  “Allez-vous.”

  Jumping from the shadows, Henri waved his handkerchief high in the air. “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité! Pour toute la monde!”

  As his cry pierced the night, cheers erupted from the dense tropical foliage. Hundreds of men and women of color took to the streets. The French Revolutionary flag bolstered their cries, its colors signifying the freedom they sought.

  As his compatriots bolted past him to storm the waiting ships in the harbor, Henri grinned. “We did it, M’sieu. We’s gonna free ’dem all.”

  “Indeed. Nobody can stop us now.” Tapping his cane on the wooden boardwalk, L’Archambeau patted Henri’s shoulder indulgently.

  “What’s next, M’sieu?”

  “Now, we’ll help the rest of the world follow suit.”

  Henri raised his brow. “Nouvelle-Orleans?”

  “Oui. We sail at daybreak.” Tipping his hat, Henri scampered off like a wayward child.

  L’Archambeau shook his head and sighed. It had been too easy to persuade Henri and his gullible people to join this cause. The notion of liberty was a farce, not to mention a calamity.

  He’d spent years watching his fellow countrymen overthrow their king and burn France to the ground. For what? The sniveling weasel that had appointed himself Emperor?

  The colonies were no different. After the uprisings in Saint Domingue, the newly freed indigenous folk could barely feed their families.

  And soon, Guadeloupe will follow.

  Anticipation tingled through L’Archambeau as he ambled toward his ship in the harbor. Personally, he didn’t care a wit for these poor wretches. They were a means to an end, no more. And he had a grander plan in mind.

  “After twenty long years of serving the French aristocracy, I’ll finally receive my just due.”

  Part One:

  Spies

  and

  Bloody Lies

  Chapter 1

  NORTH LINCOLNSHIRE England

  Six years prior, April 1792

  “We’re here to pay our respects to Mika Hawkes, loved by all. His wife and children grieve his long sickness, and we are thankful he’s no longer suffering...”

  Standing near his uncle’s casket, Talon Barberry stared across the crowded field at the Romani who had traveled from afar to pay their respects to one of the clan’s most beloved men. Menacing clouds darkened the sky like a foreboding omen. He shielded his eyes from the light rain.

  As signs of spring filled the air, the fragrant crocus and newly sprouted grass filled his senses. The mix of the bitter with the sweet was all-too fitting for Mika’s wake.

  “We give him to God and eulogize him in song for his loyalty to his clan.”

  A despondent wail rose from the front as his aunt, Lala, flung herself over her husband’s casket. A proper Romani tribute, it was but one of the many dramatic interludes that would accompany his uncle to eternity.

  As the priest proclaimed his uncle as honorable and loyal, an occasional cry of agreement joined him. Glancing over his shoulder, Talon’s jaw clenched. His cousin Contesse—Mika’s illegitimate daughter, no less—hid at the back of the crowd. As she shifted her sky-blue cloak to protect her translucent skin, Talon swallowed the rancid taste settling at the back of his throat.

  He was weary of it all.

  Why were they celebrating the life of this man? Aye, Mika had adhered to tradition and married the woman his family had chosen for him. He’d remained devoted to his clan like a good Romani should. But he’d loved another and abandoned his daughter without looking back.

  And her life had been hell since.

  Talon pinched the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, he was destined to follow his uncle’s fate if Papa had his way. Not that he had a love child—or a woman for that matter. But now that his adventure was finished, the clan leaders were arranging his marriage whether he liked it or not.

  It was the way of the Romani. All men were required to marry, breed, and take their rightful place in their clan’s society. As the oldest, he would follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps and eventually become the leader of his clan.

  He wanted none of it.

  The chants subsided. As the mourners bowed their heads in a final prayer, a melancholy tune resonated across the field. His brother Carlo nudged him.

  Lifting the corner of the coffin, Talon and his cousins and brothers followed Lala to the graveside, carrying Mika to his final resting place. His cousins accompanied the chanteuses on their guitars and mandolins. More prayers were said. After they interred Mika in the earth, Talon brushed his dirt-laden hands on his breeches and stepped away to allow his aunt to grieve in peace.

  Sadness overwhelmed him as he walked toward Contesse and her husband Eric. As her eyes swam with tears, Talon gave her a grim smile. Despite having known her birth father only a short time, she had become an integral part of their clan.

  His father and grandfather had taken her in as one of their own against Lala’s protests that she was an interloper. Fortunately, honor had prevailed. Family bloodlines were thick... Romani blood was thicker than most.

  But Contesse was different. With her pale skin and eyes, she stood out, just as Talon always had. She wasn’t really one of them, and there were days Talon felt the same. That’s why he’d spent years wandering the countryside, lost. At this point he wasn’t sure he’d ever find his way.

  At least his father had given him the chance. For nearly a year, he’d traversed the English countryside, trying to find happiness. Edouard Blanchefort, Contesse’s adoptive father, had hired him to protect her as she searched for her biological family. During their journey, they’d discovered her ties to the Romani people, including her relation to Mika. Unfortunately, her reunion with her birth father was short lived. He’d succumbed to the same disease that had taken Contesse’s mother o
ver twenty years ago.

  During their travels, Contesse had found herself—and her life’s purpose. Upon their stop in London, she’d fallen ill. Talon had sought out Eric McEwan, a doctor’s apprentice at a local apothecary shop, to aide her. As Eric nursed her back to health, they fell in love.

  At least one of us got a happy ending.

  With red-rimmed eyes, Contesse sniffled into her lace handkerchief. Eric stood by her side, holding Maggie, their year-old daughter, in his arms. Talon accepted his handshake and embraced Contesse. “I’m glad you could make it. It would have meant the world to Mika.”

  She brushed the wetness from her cheeks. “And now our adventure is over.”

  Glancing at her blooming belly, he smirked. “For me perhaps. Seems you’ll be quite busy.” He fingered Maggie’s brown curls, so like his sister, Mala’s. “You go to Ireland from here?”

  Eric nodded. “Aye. Grandfather is ready for me to begin my apprenticeship in Dublin. I loathe returning to the city, but in three years, I’ll be a doctor in my own right.”

  Talon arched an eyebrow. “What of Dr. Radford and his lady love?”

  Brushing a hand across his cheek, Eric sighed. “I owe Iain Radford for giving me a second chance, but we can’t stay. Despite our work with the druidic people, Cambridge refused to revoke my suspension. Trinity is offering me full tutelage under my grandfather’s watchful eye.” Eric winked. “Besides, Iain will get along fine without me. Madame Claire will keep him busy.”

  Talon chuckled. Of all the odd sorts of couples, Claire Carmadie and Iain Radford were certainly at the top of the list. “They’ve settled in London then?”

  “Aye. Baker, his senior apprentice, graduated, and Madame Claire left her druidic sect to assist Doc with his shop. He’s well-taken care of, I assure you.”

  Contesse placed her hand on Talon’s arm. “What of you? Will you join your father and brothers breeding the horses?”