Illusion of Innocence: Regency Rebelles Series

Chapter 3

The clear tones of a harp being tuned caught Sin’s ear and his attention drifted from the conversation to where adjoining doors had been opened into a music room. His cousin, Lady Victoria was seated beside a grand piano and bent with solemn absorption over an antique Celtic harp. He knew she played, but it was a long time since he”d heard her.

Lady Angelique stood at her shoulder, equally engrossed in the moment. Before he could return to the conversation, a flash of silken lilac came into view, and his sylvan goddess settled on the piano stool with her back to the instrument.

The fair harpist leaned forward and spoke earnestly to the other two, then Lady Verity’s elfin features lit up, and she waved her hands and said something that immediately changed Victoria”s customary solemn countenance to a warm smile.

No one could resist the charm of that magical creature, not even the aloof, introverted Lady Victoria.

Lady Verity leapt to her feet, and for a moment, Sin thought she would twirl into dance, but she visibly settled herself, caught one hand with the other as if to keep them from flying about, and raised her voice to make an announcement.

‘Keep chatting everyone. Vic, Angel and I are going to quietly enjoy ourselves in the background. Or listen if you wish—I don”t think I”m being boastful when I say we will not disappoint.’

Then with a flutter of silk she sank down on the stool and indicated to Victoria she should commence. Lady Angelique settled on the stool beside Lady Verity and the two watched Victoria’s plucking fingers, tapping dainty slippered feet and smiling encouragingly at their less flamboyant friend.

Victoria”s slim fingers danced in a delicate blur across the strings, her beautiful strawberry blonde head bowed over the instrument in apparent oblivion to her surroundings.

She made a portrait that should be painted, framed. With not a sheet of music in sight, the music spun from her fingers like living silk and ancient stories that hung in the air, almost visible. Bedewed spider webs in the morning sunlight.

Entrancing. Captivating.

Chatter faded from the room and all eyes were turned on the fair musician.

All except Sin’s.

He could not look away from his entrancing obsession who watched her friend with an absorption, a stillness he”d not yet seen in her.

The afternoon was closing in and soft shadows highlighted the delicate curved cheekbones, the pert nose with its tilted tip, and the lush pout of her lower lip.

Pensive, his fairy was more enticing than ever.

Lady Angelique rose to stand at Victoria’s shoulder and the music segued into a crooning Irish ballad, perfect for Angelique’s rich, husky alto. She had a voice that reached into a man”s vitals, purred across his senses, and without any other stimulation could likely bring him to ecstasy.

Any man other than Sin.

None of it even touched his growing fascination with Lady Verity Davencourt.

Did she sing or play? Was her role simply to support her friends, to somehow spiritually imbue the music with her intense energy?

Sin could feel her sensual involvement in the music from where he settled in the niche at the end of the fireplace, back where he could observe while hopefully remaining unobserved himself.

Like a rudderless boat with no anchor, he floated, drifted, on alien waters.

He’d become a man he didn”t know.

Felt as if—

She was turning on the stool to face the keyboard. How could that simple action stop the breath in his chest?

The harpist and the singer brought their second song to a close and the room erupted into applause.

His goddess waited, hands poised over the keys, and when the clapping faded a ripple of notes glissaded into the afternoon shadows.

The audience, including their hosts, were too enthralled to move to request more candles lit. Even the staff had not interrupted to perform the chore.

None of the musicians had music, so the lack of light did not deter them.

A frisson of some energy seemed to shimmer down Lady Verity’s spine.

Was he the only one to notice it?

Was he that attuned to her?

Deep notes, something akin to a funeral march, flowed from her dainty hands, a brooding descent into darkness entirely in keeping with the deepening gloom in the room and conversely at odds with the light, effervescent energy of the player.

The collective silence in the room was breathless, as if all knew what to expect and held their breath in anticipation.

The tempo built, and the tone lightened and suddenly she”d led them out of a moonless graveyard and into a flower strewn, summer meadow alive with the humming of bees and the delicate fluttering of butterflies. Her fingers fairly danced over the keys, her whole body alive and vibrating to the music.

The vibrant energy reached across the room and delved deep into Sinclair’s core, into some dark, long-hidden place that might have been his soul.

He had to get out.

The woman was a sorceress, not a goddess or—a fairy or any other damn thing.

If she could reach inside him like that, sink her energy tentacles right into his guts and uplift him to some plane where he started fantasizing, dreaming like an insipid fop, she was dangerous.

Did no one else feel it?

He skittered along the wall towards the door. Turning back to observe, he noted every face riveted on the pianist with entranced delight and indulgence.

Weird. He bolted out the door, along the hall, down the servants’ stairs, heading for the chilly evening air in the kitchen gardens to shock some normality back into his body.

‘Sin! Wait up.’

Nik. Thank God no one else had followed him. His brother for example.

Sin slowed so Nik could catch up, but he kept moving towards his goal. A blast of cold air to wake him out of this trance.

‘What”s up?’ Nik asked when Sin finally fetched up against a marble bird bath at the center of the winter-barren vegetable gardens, and hung there as if catching his breath.

‘The damned woman”s a witch,’ he growled, the words out of his mouth before he could stifle them. Further proof she had bewitched him.

Him. Sinclair Wolfenden, who’d had absolute control over every word out of his mouth since—since he’d learned the value of covering his backside at the tender age of thirteen.

Least said soonest mended, or so his nanny had been wont to say.

At least this was Nik, who knew him as no other did, inside and out—and deep in his cups.

He definitely couldn”t be drunk on the few sips of his brother”s excellent brandy he”d managed before the fair musician had addled his brains.

For however clearly he recognized the sensual nymph beneath the fairy disguise she wore, Lady Verity Davencourt was an innocent—and not dallying material.

She was a threat to that which he held most dear.

His bachelor status.

He had no title requiring an heir. Gabe already had a son, and would probably have a second who would be grateful if his uncle were to leave him an estate.

There was absolutely no reason to change one single thing about the way he lived his life. Gabe had everything covered.

‘What does love feel like?’

Nik groaned—or was that himself?

Fetching up against the other side of the bird bath, Nik peered at him for a long moment through the gloom, as if to be sure the idiot opposite was actually his best friend, Sinner Wolfenden, hardened businessman, bachelor and pirate, on the high seas or in the bedroom.

In short, the last man on earth, Nik, would be expecting to ask that question.

Or any other like it.

‘Dangerous,’ Nik offered softly, without any hesitation.

Sin flinched. He knew that much already.

He waited, and Nik didn”t disappoint. His gaze lifted to the stars becoming visible in the sky above. A shudder rippled through his elegant frame, and a painful agony settled over his features. Sin knew he thought on Jeshael.

‘Dangerous,’ he said softly again, ‘to your ability to breathe, to see in the normal way, to eat or drink or any other life-sustaining activity. To think. To rationalize. Like all your senses are captivated, in thrall to the one.’

‘Fuck,’ Sin muttered harshly. ‘I need a drink. Several.’

Nik dragged his gaze back from the stars to consider his friend, his eyes unreadable. But his pain was palpable when at last he spoke.

‘It doesn”t help, Sin. Nothing does. Ever.’

23 November 1816 - Next day

A large party of guests set out to ride up onto the Downs then over the humped Roman bridge which spanned the even more ancient St. Anne”s Ford, the origin of the village of Stannesford. They planned to visit the ruins of St Anne”s chapel before returning home.

Telling herself she was not noticing the way Sinclair Wolfenden sat his horse like a king’s knight, Verity watched Angel and Victoria set out with Lucy, Charity and Carly and wished she”d relinquished her pony cart and asked Papa to acquire another mount for her, now her beloved Miss Pearl was laid to rest.

There was no reason to keep the cart now she didn”t need it to carry the old dog everywhere, but she knew the children loved it when she took them for a jaunt.

And Pollyanna, her beautiful dappled grey pony, needed the exercise. Looking behind her, she checked young Philip Fenhurst and Lord and Lady Craig’s two boys, Paul and Walter, were settled and the nurse who’d volunteered to supervise them had everything under control. Then with a cluck to Pollyanna they moved off.

The lads each clutched a bag of bread purloined from the kitchens, and their voices were high-pitched with excitement. They were to drive up the Oxford road to the home farm to feed the ducks on the pond.

Verity quickly found her happy place, allowing Pollyanna to set her own pace while her mind returned to the image of Sinclair astride a big bay gelding, muscled thighs straining against buckskin and strong capable hands relaxed on the bridle and yet in control. She knew he”d been aware of her, for his gaze, dark and shadowed beneath his hat, had settled on her more than once.

Bother it. She so wished she”d been dressed in an elegant riding habit like her sister, and mounted on a sleek black mare to contrast perfectly with her silver blonde coloring.

How many times did she have to remind herself she already knew Sinner Wolfenden was to be her husband, so it was not for her to worry about the how or when of it?

It would come about as it was meant to.

Their first stop was at the farmhouse, where young Philip was coerced into politely asking Mr. Bridges, the farm manager, for permission to visit the pond and feed the ducks. With that formality taken care of, they trundled up the rutted farm lane, the boys shouting with glee every time they bumped through a pothole.

The ducks quickly gathered in a raucous quacking cluster at the edge of the pond, and Verity and Nurse Julie were well occupied, keeping the lads from tumbling in amongst them in their exuberance.

Nevertheless, Verity was instantly aware when the first riders crested a distant hilltop and began riding down the ridge towards the Oxford road and the old Roman bridge.

The riders were too far away to identify, but she imagined the tall one on the black leading the way was Gabriel, and while she imagined Sinclair would let his brother lead because he was their host, it was unlikely he’d extend the courtesy to anyone else, therefore the figure on the large bay riding close behind was likely Sinclair Wolfenden.

She sensed he preferred to lead, to be in control, and would only concede to someone he believed had earned or deserved that right.

As the ridge eased into a long gentler slope, it became clear black and bay were being urged to race, galloping neck and neck towards the wide area of flat along the bank of the rushing brook, the rest of the field trailing behind them.

‘Oh. That big duck stole my last bit of bread right out of my hand,’ Paul wailed, dragging Verity’s attention back to the action on the pond.

Putting an arm around the little boy”s body, Verity pulled him close.

‘That big duck is a goose,’ she told him. ‘He”s bigger, so he needs more bread.’

‘He”s a robber,’ Paul declared, not to be pacified by any adult reasoning.

It was the pounding of hooves that distracted the lad from his pout.

‘Papa,’ he cried excitedly as Lord Craig rode up. ‘That big duck’s a robber.’

‘Is that so, my man?’

‘He stole the last bit of bread right out of my hand.’

‘Wow. Did he get any of your fingers?’

‘No,’ the child said indignantly, holding up his hands to prove this point to his father. ‘Can I ride with you, Papa, can I?’

‘Oh, and me too,’ Philip demanded, reaching up to his father, Lord Fenhurst.

‘And me,’ four-year-old Walter cried plaintively, his face already crumpling into tears with the realization his Papa could only take one of them and Paul had already staked his claim.

Distracted by her awareness of piercing grey eyes fixed on her from under heavy dark brows, it took Verity a moment to catch up with the small-person drama about to erupt at her feet and snatched at Walter’s coat as he darted towards the hooves of his father”s horse in a desperate effort to beat Paul to the coveted ride.

‘Walter!’ she cried in alarm, then drew breath and calmed herself in an effort not to defer the panic to the child. ‘Walter,’ she said evenly, ‘who will take care of Julie and me if you all go riding? And—and I”m pretty certain I may need help driving Pollyanna home again. Will you help me drive?’

Walter stared wide-eyed up at her, one grubby thumb sneaking towards his mouth.

Quickly grabbing his hand, she tucked him safely into her side while his brother and cousin clambered proudly up in front of their fathers.

‘Can I, Very? Can I drive Pollyanna?’

‘You can,’ she told him with what she hoped was some semblance of serenity in her voice.

Chancing to glance up, she surprised Sinner Wolfenden focused on her as if trying to discern an important truth. Or did his slight scowl denote scorn for the battered old felt hat she’d worn to keep her head warm, and her wet and muddy boots and hems?

The infuriating man was always catching her at a disadvantage. Well, if they were to be husband and wife he would discover the real Verity Davencourt sooner rather than later.

She was not about to start pretending she was something she wasn”t. Not anymore.

Adult she was and determined to act. Fastidious and elegant lady was never really going to be in her repertoire.

Except perhaps if she should ever visit London.

She would just make sure to be home in time to change into the sea green muslin with Brussels lace sleeves before luncheon.

When she donned the trappings of ladylike elegance it did serve to remind her she had to try to act as sophisticated as her new gowns.

Although, she thought with a sigh, for the afternoon she needed to don one of her old gowns to create the flower arrangements for the christening in the chapel tomorrow.

‘Tell your musician to play a waltz next.’

Sin refused to meet Gabe’s astonished stare. His brother”s reaction was not surprising. Sin had all but groaned when Lucy announced their new footman was an accomplished violinist; therefore, there would be dancing after dinner.

Skulking back against the wall of the Great Hall, Sin had made no move to secure a partner or join the frivolity.

‘What? Do you think I don”t know how?’ he muttered without taking his eyes off the dancers, who were finishing another energetic reel. One dancer in particular gowned in mystical turquoise and pearls.

He”d had enough of watching his nymph passed from manly arm to manly arm, her eyes sparkling and that tempting mouth wide with laughter.

She loved to dance—and regardless he had no intention of pursuing the matter further, he would hold her.

Once.

Feel her dainty curves pressed against his hard body, breathe her scent.

Speak to her.

Torture himself.

And what would they talk about? He hadn”t yet decided when the set ended, and she began to leave the floor on the arm of Major Thaddeus Ayres, one of Gabe’s rakish army mates.

She was laughing up at the handsome major, clearly intrigued with whatever he”d been telling her.

Barely resisting the urge to snatch her out of the man”s grasp he slipped his hand through her free arm.

‘I”m claiming the next dance, my Lady. If you please,’ he said, lowering his head and dipping his knee.

‘Oh.’

Startled aquamarine eyes flew up to his, and she seemed at a loss for words.

‘Sinner,’ the major growled. ‘Time you bestirred yourself to do the pretty.’

Sin ignored him and waited for the consent, but he knew the lady could not politely deny him.

Those ocean-deep eyes were suddenly hidden behind thick lashes, and a tiny smile tilted the corners of the lips he couldn”t stop fantasizing about.

‘It would be my pleasure, Mr. Wolfenden,’ she said, a slight hitch to her voice as if she had difficulty catching her breath.

Good. He didn”t want to be the only one feeling this devilishly inconvenient attraction. Right about now, he needed to hear his usual inner cautionary voice reminding him why dancing with the chit was a bad idea.

Goddammit, even noticing the chit was a bad idea, but either the voice of caution had shut down since he was ignoring it, or he’d somehow lost the ability to hear it.

Leading her out onto the floor with a firm hand at her waist, he turned her to face him and placed her left hand on his shoulder.

‘It”s a waltz,’ he murmured for her ears only, when she lifted a startled gaze to his. Startled but—glowing.

‘Oh,’ she whispered and relaxed into him as the fiddler started up a slow, romantic waltz from Schubert.

Snugging his arm into the curve of her waist, he held her close so they were pressed intimately into one another.

Fool, he silently chastised himself, as his body signaled its approval. But rather than pull back and seek to calm himself by putting space between them, he slid his hand a little lower onto the curve of her buttocks, pressing the fork of her body against the hard ridge of his arousal.

Tensing in his arms, she tried to put space between them. He would not allow it, liked her right where she was.

Needed the shield she provided for his modesty.

The other dancers, and those watching from the sidelines, were sufficiently intrigued already by this departure from his normal aloof, withdrawn observation from the background.

How the hell was he to get himself out of this predicament? More to the point, how had he allowed himself to get into this damned predicament in the first place?

One look at his nymph, who he was still convinced was more child than woman, and who barely reached above his chin, and every one of his thirty-five years of hard earned experience and self-preservation deserted him.

One moment of holding her in his arms, and his brain melted and joined his blood in an embarrassingly juvenile race to his nether regions.

What the devil had happened to his cast iron shields and bulwarks against attractions of the female sort?

Best he regroup.

With a dip and a twirl of her body tucked scandalously close into his for one last time, he steadied them, forced a couple of inches of space between their bodies and wracked his brain for something innocuous to talk about.

How he wanted to waltz her out of the Great Hall and away from the watching eyes of their friends and family so he could ravish her was most likely not a suitable topic, but he struggled to come up with anything else.

Eloquence around women had never been a problem for him. Then again, usually he was working on maneuvering them into his bed—not out of it.

And he definitely needed to keep Lady Verity Davencourt well away from his bed.

Wasn”t one supposed to—converse or something—when one was dancing with a gentleman?

Lord, she couldn”t remember one thing she’d ever been told about etiquette or manners when dancing. She was sure it hadn”t involved being held so scandalously close she could feel—his—thing through their clothes. Pressing against her right where—

Holy Jehoshaphat. Sorry, Nanny, she mentally apologized for the unladylike thought. But, he’d felt so—so—

She collapsed on a chair beside Angelique who was fanning herself after being flung energetically about the floor by her brother as if they”d been enjoying the freedom of their own ballroom at home at Highbrooke. Obviously, they felt at home with close friends and family and free to enjoy a little levity and exuberance.

Hopefully, it meant Angel had not noticed the scandalous way Sinclair Wolfenden had held her, in plain view of everyone.

Victoria slipped onto the chair at her other side, after prettily thanking her cousin Quinn for the dance and turned her hazel-green eyes on Verity with concern.

‘What was that, Very?’ she demanded, shock clear in her voice.

‘What was what?’ Verity countered, stalling for inspiration as to what she was going to say.

Victoria”s eyes widened and her fine golden brows rose.

‘I know you said you know my cousin is to be your husband—,’ Victoria began.

‘I did. And he is,’ Verity interrupted with a lift of her chin.

‘I”m not doubting it, Very. I know what you know, when all is said and done, but—that—that bounder was practically ravishing you right there on the dance floor. It”s to be grateful your parents were not here, or your brother for that matter. I’ve a mind to have a word in his ear myself.’

‘You?’

It was Verity’s turn to stare at her friend as if she”d sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead. It was certainly as likely as retiring, uncommunicative Lady Victoria Wolfenden taking a gentleman to task—even if he was a distant cousin.

‘Well, somebody should,’ she muttered and both their glances shifted to where the gentlemen were once again clustered together on the other side of the room.

Gabriel appeared to be pinning Sinclair in the chimney corner while he spoke in a solemn and commanding manner. He”d been a colonel in Wellington’s forces and the habit of commanding had not left him.

‘Good,’ Victoria went on with quiet satisfaction. ‘Looks like Gabe is taking care of it. Very,’ she said, turning earnestly back to Verity, ‘it”s all very well to know you will wed him, but you do not know the why of it, and you don”t want it to be because you—or he—were trapped into it. That”s no way to start a life together. You don”t want to be laying the foundations for a lifetime of misery, do you?’

‘What”s going on?’ Angelique asked, setting her fan aside and staring between the other two.

‘Verity was dancing the prelude to bedroom frolics with Sinner on the dance floor for everyone to see,’ Victoria told her. ‘How could you have missed it?’

‘Ben was being an ass and we were having too much fun,’ Angelique declared. ‘Very, you sly puss. Were you really being scandalous out there with the Sinner?’

Victoria sank back in her chair, all animation leaking slowly out of her being, as often happened when Angel’s brother was mentioned.

Something had happened between Vic and Ben, Viscount Illingworth, last season in London, and contrary to their usual habit of sharing everything, Victoria had refused to utter a word about it. She seemed to shrink more and more into herself while Lord Illingworth became more brash, more dashing and flamboyant.

Which sometimes put a strain on the deeply ingrained three-way friendship, for Angel adored her big brother.

‘Very?’ Angel snapped, bringing Verity back to the uncomfortable question Angel was waiting for her to answer.

‘There wasn”t much I could do about it,’ Verity muttered finally. ‘He just—pulled me close—and kept me there.’

‘You weren”t actually trying to disengage,’ Victoria said.

Verity sucked in breath, as the sensation of Sin’s body, one very hard part of his body, pressing against hers, washed over her with a shudder of something she was afraid might be ecstasy.

‘Vic’s right,’ Angelique said, watching her closely. ‘You don”t want the scandal and discomfort of a forced marriage and your Papa”s reaction is not to be thought about.’

They were right. That was definitely not how she meant to start her marriage to the infuriating man.

And he was. Beyond infuriating, in fact.

For two days, he’d looked at her with what she”d taken to be scorn for her apparent youthfulness, and then tonight, he”d practically manhandled her onto the floor as if he”d been waiting a month to ravish her.

‘I need some fresh air,’ she said. ‘Come with me over by the windows.’

‘I”ll get drinks,’ Angel said, ‘and meet you over there.’

A drink would be excellent, Verity silently acknowledged.

Her throat was parched.

Charity was to be Lord Theodore’s godmother and Verity smiled with pleasure at how pretty her older sister looked in fuchsia pink silk with a shawl in cream lace with threads of gold through it. Their maid, Linnie, had put her rich brown hair up on top of her head and threaded a whisper of gold lace ribbon through the abundant curls.

It was not often Char made time to bother about her appearance, being too busy at Mama’s beck and call. Playing the martyr, Verity considered it. But that was how Char was made. She lived to serve and yet Verity was certain deep down, her sister resented that fact. But no one could change that save Charity herself.

Gabe”s cousin Quin, Earl of Carradene, took his place at Charity’s side as godfather to the baby. A shaft of sunlight fell across the pair as they took their vows of lifelong devotion to the heir to the title and estates of Pennington.

The light sparkled in the gold lace in Charity’s hair, and struck highlights of deep red among her chocolate curls. Sparks of silver glinted in the casually arranged almost-ebony locks crowning Quin’s head.

Verity blinked. An aura, such as she often saw around married couples, enveloped the pair. When she opened her eyes again, it was gone, and she could not have sworn she’d actually seen it. Nor would she look again, for she’d never be able to keep from sharing what she knew with Char if she was clearly shown Quinn would become her brother-in-law.

Nothing seemed less likely in the current circumstances. Charity had become the crutch their mother depended on in her debilitating mourning for Liberty.

As for the Earl of Carradene, it was rumored he would likely beggar the Carradene estates in his determination to divorce his wife and disinherit the son she’d foisted upon him, who was not of his siring.

Verity knew her sister was not averse to marriage, but she had voiced her intention to devote herself to their Mama for as long as she should be needed, which likely meant she’d remain a spinster.

Lord Carradene, on the other hand, was known to have plainly stated he would not be taken in by a woman’s wiles ever again. With four younger brothers and a nephew already, the succession was well taken care of.

Vicar Coutts called the congregation to stand for the final hymn and Verity rose to her feet, guiltily aware she’d drifted off in her mind as she so often did and had not really been focused on the reason they were all gathered in the Pennington chapel with its exquisite stained glass windows and antique, baroque-cased positive organ.

Mrs. Coutts pedaled vigorously and managed to pump a recognizable tune out of the ancient instrument and since the hymn was a well-known one, the congregation ably covered for the occasional missing note.

Verity kept her head down as she, Angel and Victoria made their way out of the chapel behind Quin and Charity. She’d held off going down to breakfast until the men had mostly dispersed on pursuits of their own.

It was not that she didn”t want to see Sinclair, more that she wanted it too much, and didn”t trust herself to act with the decorum and maturity the situation required. The man excited her and while that might bode well for a marriage between them, she hadn”t been able to convince herself his actions last night had actually shown an interest in marriage.

More likely, he merely thought to bed her—and ruin her, a man like him.

Vic and Angel had not argued any different. Thus, she needed to keep as much distance between her and Sinner Wolfenden as was politely possible while they were all gathered under the one roof.

An elaborate luncheon had been provided in the winter dining room, several of the gentleman overtaking the ladies as they climbed the carved oak staircase with its well-worn treads. Bennett caught up to Angel, walking at her side and keeping her between him and Victoria, who walked with her gaze fixed straight ahead and her mouth set in an uncompromising line.

It was at such moments Vic was inclined to trip over some obstacle in her path she’d completely overlooked. Thankfully there was no such misfortune today.

Absorbed in the energies flowing in livid waves off the two of them, Verity was jolted back to awareness by a large hand settling in the small of her back and a sinful, dark voice in her ear.

‘Good morning, Lady Verity. Were you responsible for the amazing flower arrangements in the chapel?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply, unable to articulate anything further.

‘They are exquisite. Like the florist.’

Fighting the urge to snug her shoulder under the protection of Sin’s, Verity straightened her spine and almost galloped up the last few steps and along the upper hallway.

She”d had no time to practice acting like a mature, level-headed adult. Her feet wanted to dance, her body wanted to twirl and her arms wanted to open wide and invite him in.

When he looked at her like that, with wickedness dancing in those usually stormy eyes and a smile lurking at the corners of a mouth that could only belong to a man named Sinner, she wanted to fall into the waltz with him again.

Pull him against her so she could feel every scandalous inch of his hardness pressing against her belly, the fork of her thighs.

Now she was breathless and blushing. Where was maturity and self-possession when you actually needed it?

His hand was back at her waist, guiding her to a chair in a grouping near a window with a view out over the front carriage turn-around and the long formal drive lined with winter-bare silver birches.

‘I will fetch us a plate each. Keep the seat for me,’ he ordered, and strode off towards the loaded tables on the other side of the room.

Victoria arrived and plopped down on the very chair Sinclair had demanded she hold for him.

Well, he did tend to throw orders about as if all and sundry were bound to obey him. Obedience had never been her strong suit, so she would say nothing to Vic. Besides, she looked flustered, bothered, and in need of the chair—and perhaps a listening ear.

‘What”s wrong, Vic?’

‘Nothing,’ she avowed, her flustered expression turning to a glower as Bennett settled Angelique in the chair next to her and took it upon himself to go off and get a plate for all three of them.

‘Are you being looked after, Very?’ he asked politely.

‘I am, thank you, Ben,’ she assured him, and he loped off to do his manly duty.

‘I love it when Ben goes all attentive and helpful,’ Angel said, sitting back with a sigh of contentment. Then with a sly glance at Victoria, she asked, ‘Don”t you, Vic?’

Victoria glowered about the room then turned back to Angelique with a deliberate stare.

‘Your brother is everything that is proper—when it suits him.’

‘What is wrong with you two?’ Angelique demanded.

‘There”s nothing wrong with me,’ Victoria declared huffily, ‘and as for Lord Illingworth, I really couldn”t say.’

When had Vic started being so formal with Ben?

The twitch of Angelique’s shoulders told Verity she was losing patience and any moment now the two would have one of their brief spats, as they did when Angelique pushed—and Victoria pushed back.

‘I”ve not seen Charity look so—attractive in a long time, if ever,’ Verity commented in her usual apropos-of-nothing way, to divert the other two.

‘She does look well. Beautiful in fact. While my poor sister looks completely washed out. Pregnancy is not her best look. Although her Grizzly Bear still looks at her as if there was no other woman in the world,’ Angelique answered.

Verity watched Lord Beaumont hovering over a very pregnant Lady Raquelle. Like Lucy and Gabe’s, their marriage was a love match. Her breath hitched with the longing burgeoning in her chest.

A shadow loomed and she looked up to see Sinclair standing beside her with two plates loaded with various sandwiches, tiny meat pies, cheese pastries and fruit tarts.

His gaze slid enquiringly from her to the chair he”d asked her to save for him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the plate from him. ‘As you can see, there are not enough chairs here. Perhaps over there with the gentlemen?’

She indicated another cluster of seats, several of which were still unoccupied.

His eyes narrowed down at her and then he said, ‘Hold this,’ dumped his plate on her lap along with hers and strode across the room to snag an empty chair and bring it back to place at her other side.

‘Is my attention unwelcome, Lady Verity?’

He had retrieved his plate from her lap, but instead of eating, his gaze was fixed on her. More of a glare actually.

Verity finished chewing the bite she’d taken of a delicious pork and applesauce sandwich and considered her answer.

‘That depends,’ she finally offered, concentrating on nibbling the crusts around the edge of the sandwich so as to save the meat-filled part to savor last.

Like a child. Oh, botheration.

She dropped the remainder down on her plate, wiped two fingers delicately on the napkin he’d thoughtfully brought her and finally lifted her eyes to meet his.

‘On what?’ he asked softly when he had her full attention. His nostrils flared as though he thought she toyed with him. Apparently, no one should toy with well-established, always in command, Sinner Wolfenden.

Well, then she wouldn”t. She would be direct. Aim right between his eyes—or somewhere.

Goodness, why was she always losing control of her thoughts around him?

Direct, she reminded herself.

‘On what you are seeking from me. Because if that waltz last night was an indication, then, as any well brought up young lady would, I would have to say your attentions are definitely unwelcome.’

Then, because she couldn”t bring herself to look up and confront the anger she imagined might be infusing his features, she popped the last meaty piece of sandwich into her mouth.