Illusion of Innocence: Regency Rebelles Series

Chapter 5

Sam and Jamie were brawny lads and quickly assessing the situation, hauled Sin’s arms around their shoulders and dragged him back out into the freezing gloom.

Sin tried to walk, but his legs didn”t seem to work, and in the end, it was easier to let them drag him.

‘Kitchen door’s closest,’ Sam said. ‘Be warmer there too and maybe Horsham’ll be able to deal wi’ ye wi’out alarming the rest o’ the ‘ouse’old.’

‘Good,’ was all Sin could mutter. All he wanted was to be put down somewhere warm so he could go to sleep.

A kitchen maid opened the door to their banging.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she squeaked. ‘What? Who? Mr. Sinclair? Well, don”t just stand there,’ she scolded suddenly. ‘Bring him in. Set him down on the stool by the fire. Is he—is he injured?’

‘Nah. Nigh frozen—‘n’ likely foxed,’ Jamie huffed as they dragged him over to the stool, sitting him down and remaining on either side of him to prevent him toppling off—and cracking his skull on the flagstones, no doubt.

There was food in various stages of preparation on the huge deal table in the center of the room, pots bubbling on the big black iron stove and a lad turning the spit with a haunch of venison roasting aromatically.

The smells—his stomach rumbled, but Sin doubted it was a good sign. He just wanted to close his eyes and black out the world. No such luck.

‘I can”t have him in here,’ Cook wailed, waving a wooden spoon as if it was a flag. ‘How will we prepare dinner if he”s staggering all over? An’ if he’s drunk I don”t need him casting up his accounts in here.’

‘All right, Polly. I”ll fetch Mr. Horsham,’ the maid hurriedly assured her and darted off.

When Horsham arrived, Gabe was right behind him.

‘Sinner! Where the devil have you been? What”s wrong with you? Are you injured?’

‘Foxed,’ Sin mumbled, sliding sideways on the stool. Sam moved quickly to right him. ‘’N fuckin’ frozen.’

There was a titter from the maids and the spit boy and a gasp of outrage from Polly.

‘We’ll not be ‘avin’ that language in my kitchen, Mr Sinclair.’

Sin groaned.

‘Gabe. Wanna sleep.’

‘You”ve been riding in this weather?’ Gabe demanded, ignoring his whine.

‘Went with Nik. Left ‘im in Buckland. Meant to stay outta trouble at The Lamb. No blasted fairies there.’ Gabe’s brow twitched but he remained silent. ‘Then th’ snow started. Had t’ride home, in case—Mama worried.’

‘Good God,’ Gabe muttered, ‘you must be nearly frozen solid.’

‘Yeah, said as much,’ Sin moaned.

‘Can you walk?’

‘Nah.’

‘Right. Can you lads manhandle him upstairs?’ Gabe asked the two McFarquerson boys.

‘Sure thing, m’Lord,’ Sam assured him. ‘Jus’ show us th’way.’

‘Horsham, perhaps you could have a bath sent up for Mr Sinclair.’

‘Right away, my lord,’ Horsham declared and hurried off.

Then Gabe turned his attention to Cook, who was looking anything but pleased at the invasion of her kitchen at the busiest time of her preparation for dinner.

‘We”ll delay dinner by half an hour, Polly. I”ll let her ladyship know. Will that be enough time?’

‘Oh—of course, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord. I”m sorry I was so sharp-like, my Lord.’

‘All is well, Polly. I will see my brother also makes his apologies to you—when he”s able.’

‘Oh—that won”t be necessary, my Lord. Half an hour”s extra time is fine, my Lord.’

She was still babbling as the lads hefted Sinclair out of the cavernous kitchens and up the three flights of stairs to the bedrooms above. At least he had a little more feeling in his legs, and maybe a brain cell or two unfogged and unfrozen.

Nevertheless, he was relieved not to have to marshal those two brain cells into use since Gabe took charge, asking the lads to get his boots off and then strip him out of his clothes.

Once his shivering body was wrapped in a couple of blankets and he was beginning to feel the effects of the fire Gabe had stoked into a roar in the grate, he laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

His lids had scarcely met and blocked out the dancing of the flames in the hearth, when Gabe was chivvying him upright and into the bath a couple of footmen had filled for him.

His body slid under the gloriously warm water and he rested his head back with a groan of relief. Totally immersed in warmth. He’d thought he”d never be warm again.

‘Thanks, lads, that”ll be all,’ he heard Gabe dismissing the servants.

‘You can go back to your guests too, Gabe. I”ll be fine now,’ Sin avowed.

‘When you”re tucked up in your bed like a good lad,’ Gabriel said with a smile. ‘I might even ask Mama to come up and feed you some warm broth. Like she used to when we were little tots.’

‘I ain”t a little tot now and there”s no cause to go worryin’ Mama. I just—wanna—sleep.’

‘Not yet. You need to stay in there a bit longer and warm up, and you need to stay awake so I can get you out when you”re done.’

‘Cooked up like a lobster, you mean?’ Sin muttered, letting his eyes drift closed again.

‘Oh no, you don”t, Sinner,’ Gabe growled. ‘Eyes open. Tell me what your intentions are towards Lady Verity. The woman”s the daughter of our closest neighbor, the Earl of Stannesford and a long-time friend of Lucy and Victoria”s. Have you finally found someone you want to marry?’

Sinclair lurched upright, water spilling over the sides of the bath.

‘Now, Gabe? You want to do this now? The only reason my brain isn”t frozen”s cos it”s pickled in brandy.’

He didn”t want to think about Lady Verity Davencourt. He”d be right back where he was before he started out with Nik.

‘Now, Sin, while I have you trapped. And I”m sure your brain is working well enough to answer the question. Do you intend to offer the woman marriage? One word is all that”s required. Marriage—yes or no?’

The words beat at his brow—like a smith’s hammer.

Marriage—yes or no.

It wasn”t that simple. Or was it?

Damn. Sin pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and finger, but there was no way Yes would pass his lips.

After several minutes, Gabe made a sound somewhat like the feral snarl he”d heard from a tiger in the forests of India.

‘It would seem I have my answer. You can”t say Yes, and you won”t condemn yourself by saying No. Stay away from her, Sin, or I”ll toss you back out into the storm. Right, let”s get you out of that bath.’

Sin sank lower in the water, pressed his head to the hard metal rim and closed his eyes tight.

‘She said—she”d seen our marriage written in the stars—or some such rot.’

When Gabe didn”t answer, he cracked one eyelid open.

As if he’d been waiting for the moment, Gabe rose and stood over him.

‘Whatever, it had better not be because you have compromised the woman. And here is a promise for you, Sin. If you do compromise her, you will be walking her down the aisle quicker than you can button up your cock.’

Sin had never heard his brother so grim.

Hell’s bells. Bloody ship rats.

Hell’s bells were ringing right inside his skull, and it felt like the rats were gnawing at his guts. He squinted towards the window but could see no light around the edges of the curtains.

Early then. Too early for breakfast or even a cup of coffee.

Why had he got himself into this state? It had been years since—

A deep, painful groan resonated in his abused belly as it all came rushing back to him.

The fairy witch. The Lamb at Buckland. Snow.

He was snowed in here at Pennington with Lady Verity Davencourt. No one else in the house party even impinged on his thoughts, and regardless of his severely hungover misery, he knew that was not a good thing.

She drew him like ants to the jam pot. So his one clear mission while remaining at Pennington until the roads were cleared, was to avoid the alluring and confusing youngest Davencourt daughter.

Which should be easy at this ungodly hour.

Struggling up, he found his pocket watch on the side-table. Gabe must have put it there last night.

Upright, meticulous, honorable Gabe. Though judging by the warm glances his brother shared with his wife when they thought no one was noticing, he could well be a completely different animal behind-closed-doors. Sin hoped so. His military-conditioned brother needed a little leavening in his life.

He flipped the watch open. Ten to six. Too early for breakfast—and he was inordinately hungry. There should be something going on in the kitchens by now though.

Damn, he remembered Gabe saying he would apologize to Cook.

What the devil for? But because he couldn”t remember, didn”t mean he hadn”t been obnoxious in some way.

Besides, he imagined Polly was as susceptible to the flattering of a handsome rogue as any other woman.

With that salutary thought, he rolled out of bed, sat for a moment on the side of the mattress to steady his swimming brains, stood up, and staggered across to the screen in the corner.

He wet a flannel in the cold water from the pitcher and held it against his face. Shivers raced over his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, which were now freezing on the hardwood floor.

But it had the desired result. The fog cleared from his vision, and unfortunately he remembered more of his confrontation with Gabe last night.

‘Marriage—yes or no?’ his brother had asked and Sin hadn”t been able to answer.

Either response stuck in his craw. He was not ready for marriage. Might never be. Yet if he”d answered No, what did that make him?

The unprincipled, dishonorable cad Lady Verity had dubbed him.

Seemed like he owed more than one apology.

He stared at his drawn, whiskery visage in the mirror. He was a mess, but if he wanted to get down to the kitchens and back before anyone else was stirring he couldn”t afford to waste time trying to tidy himself up. That was clearly going to take longer than he could spare right now.

Pulling on a pair of sleep pants he hadn”t bothered with last night, he added a shirt for warmth and then donned his heavy dark Indian silk banyan with the golden embroidery on the sleeves.

Respectable enough for a visit to the kitchens. Shoving his feet into a pair of house shoes, he let himself out the door and made his way quietly down the three flights of stairs he had vague memories of the McFarquerson lads dragging him up last night.

He owed them too. At least a thank you, if not an apology. And he needed to check on Samson. He owed his life to the animal. He would head out for the stables as soon as he’d eaten and dressed properly.

With this thought, he pushed the swinging door into the chaos of breakfast preparation for a house party. In the middle of it was Polly, waving her arms and issuing orders in several directions at once.

‘Lukey, keep stirring that porridge pot. Those as like porridge don”t like it burnt. Tilly, have you checked the scones in the oven? They don”t like them burnt neither. Lukey, put more coal on the fire. We need to keep the heat up. Lady Verity can”t make pancakes on a lukewarm griddle—’

Following Polly’s arms and barked commands, he”d been slightly amused to see young Lukey drop the porridge stirrer, then grab it and give it another few swirls around the huge pot before leaving it to hurriedly stoke the fire.

Lady Verity making pancakes?

His legs wobbled and he wasn”t sure what it was that almost felled him, the fact his nemesis was here in the kitchen or that she was apparently making pancakes.

His all-time favorite food, loaded with berry jam and cream.

‘Mr. Sinclair, not you again,’ Polly shouted over the clatter of voices, utensils beating in bowls and pans, and the sudden silence that followed her loud complaint.

Every hand stilled. Every head turned to stare at the interloper in their midst, and conversation stopped. Which was when he realized the white capped wench in the voluminous apron working over the stove was indeed Lady Verity Davencourt—and she was staring at him in horror.

He imagined his own visage may well be a mirror image to hers.

Several expletives came to mind, which only served to remind him of one of the reasons he owed Polly an apology.

Dragging his gaze away from the alarmingly alluring sight of his faerie in maid’s attire, he turned his attention to Polly.

‘I”ve come to apologize for myself last night. There is no excuse for how I was, or how I behaved. All I can do is apologize. I’d like to be able to offer you a day off but I guess that”s not within my purview—’

‘It is not, Mr. Sinclair. Say no more. All is forgiven but you should not be in here, sir. Breakfast will be served in the morning room in another hour, God willing and no more interruptions,’ she finished, glaring pointedly at Sin.

‘Well, here’s the thing,’ Polly,’ he said, spreading his hands and offering her what he hoped was his most winning smile. ‘I don”t know when I ate last and I”m starving. I was hoping to get a cup of coffee and perhaps you could throw me a few leftovers from last night”s dinner. Some bread rolls and jam maybe—although the smell of pancakes is almost more than I can resist. I”ll sit in the corner over there, out of the way,’ he finished, indicating a three-legged stool in the far corner of the room, which looked as if it was waiting for someone wearing a dunce’s cap.

Oh aye. That would be him. He should be picking up his slippered feet and hightailing it out of there, but what was he doing?

Begging for pancakes.

Pancakes being made by Lady Verity.

He was an utter ass, but having found her somewhere she patently should not be, with her eyes wide with startlement and her cheeks deliciously pink from the fire, or embarrassment at being caught, even Gabe’s threat from last night could not move him.

‘All that charm’ll likely get ye into trouble one of these days, Mr. Sinclair, instead of out of it. It”s a rogue ye are,’ Polly said with a sudden wink. ‘Take a seat at the end of the table near the stove, and Lady Verity can spare ye a pancake or two, I”m sure. No one makes pancakes like that lass. Tilly, bring a plate, and some of that berry conserve and cream for Mr Sinclair.’

Idiot, idiot, idiot, he berated himself as he moved across the room to follow Polly’s instructions. As if in some kind of trance he settled at the end of the table nearest the stove—and Verity.

She seemed to be caught in a similar inertia, unable to take her eyes off him.

‘Lady Verity, it”s burnin’,’ Lukey cried and brought her attention back to her task.

‘Oh! Oh botheration. That”s what comes of conscienceless cads snooping into places they”ve no business being, Lukey.’

‘Pot said to kettle,’ Sin told her with a grin. ‘Here, don”t waste that. I”ll eat it.’

She was going to scrape it out into a bucket obviously containing scraps for the pigs.

‘It”s burnt,’ she protested.

‘I don”t mind, honestly. So long as you make me a few more perfect ones. I really am hungry, and pancakes are my all-time favorite, especially with berry jam and cream. Polly is a gem.’

She flipped the burnt offering onto the plate Tilly had placed in front of him and turned back to her pan as if one second too long in proximity to him might be dangerous.

And it very well could.

Sin slathered jam and cream on the pancake, rolled it up, and bit off the end with a groan of appreciation. Jam and cream dripped out the other end, but he licked it up before it could drop to the plate—or in his lap. It reminded him of childhood and the many times he and Gabe had sat in the kitchen at Haddon Hall, and Mrs. Harris had fed them pancakes with strawberry jam—always strawberry.

A sudden desire for the perfection, the peace and utter delight of that old life at Haddon took him by surprise. He’d viewed the place as more of a liability, almost a millstone, when Gabe had gifted it to him when he’d inherited the title and all the Pennington estates.

Was he thinking—?

Dammit, he didn”t know himself anymore. It was like he”d walked past a faerie creature on the lawns on Friday, performing a whole mime and charade for young Philip, and he”d entered an alternate universe.

She”d bewitched him.

He held out his empty plate to her, and without a word of either acknowledgement or admonition, she slapped a perfect round, plate-sized pancake onto it.

She was working with two pans and a huge jug of batter and was slowly building a stack keeping warm on a trivet at the side of the stove top.

What was she doing, working in the kitchen like a servant?

‘So why are you working down here, someplace you”ve no business being?’

‘Enjoying myself,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Or I was.’

The last three words were a pointed rebuke.

Obviously, he’d spoiled her morning.

She”d, kind of, spoiled his too.

He”d decided to avoid her, needed to avoid her, and here he was, through no effort of his own, in the kitchen eating breakfast cooked by her hand.

He, in semi scandalous dishabille and she, dressed as a delectable and available kitchen wench. Not that he”d been in the habit of pursuing servants, not since Miss Geraldine Scott Noble. Too much potential for all sorts of drama. No, it had been whores and bored widows ever since. They were much safer.

‘You enjoy working as a maid, slaving over a hot stove? Making food for the ungrateful privileged who have no idea whose fair hands created these masterpieces for their devourment?’

He waited while she concentrated on pouring the right amount of batter into one pan, removed the flat cake from the other and repeated the process.

When it seemed she wouldn”t answer, or had forgotten him, he asked again.

‘Do you enjoy demeaning yourself, Verity?’

She gave him a direct look in response to that challenge.

‘I enjoy making pancakes. So I do. I explained I will not be commanded to doing, or not doing, anything I really want to. Shall we test your theory?’

‘What? What theory?’

‘That no one will notice, or care, who made the pancakes.’

‘Is this—in the nature of a bet?’ he asked, knowing full well he was hijacking his own vow to stay away from this woman.

She shrugged and suddenly seemed way more mature than her twenty years. Which he found, to his dismay inordinately attractive.

‘If you wish,’ she said, managing to sound as if she had no care one way or the other. ‘If I win you will teach me to drive a curricle. Gabe has one. Sometimes I get so impatient with Miss Apple-Dapple’s ladylike trot.’

Sin almost spat out his last mouthful of pancake.

‘Miss Apple-Dapple?’

‘The dappled grey pony who pulls my cart.’

Of course. If he had half a brain working, he could have worked that out. Ruefully considering the situation he”d allowed himself to get caught up in, half was being overly generous.

‘And when I win,’ he said, watching her scrunch up her nose at him in disgust, ‘you will dance every waltz with me next time Lucy decides we’ll have dancing after dinner.’

‘Is that wise?’ she taunted before turning back to tend to her pancakes.

‘Every bit as wise as me teaching you to drive a curricle.’

‘Oh, go on with you,’ she growled. ‘Get out of here and let me get these done. I will probably have to make more batter now. You”ve scoffed at least half a dozen.’

‘The best I’ve ever had,’ he said.

‘Go,’ she ordered. ‘I need time to go up and change so I can come down again for breakfast, and you are holding me up.’

‘You would turn a starving man away?’

‘There will be plenty on the table at breakfast. You also need to go up and change,’ she finished, letting her gaze linger a little longer than it should have on the vee of chest hair showing at the neck of his shirt.

And damn if he wasn’t suddenly grateful for the protection of the banyan over his sleep pants.

‘Thank you, Verity. I shall follow your advice.’

‘That”s Lady Verity to you.’

‘Not if you also call me Sinclair—or Sin.’

‘Or Sinner?’ she asked, observing him closely from beneath her dark lashes.

The problem beneath the banyan was now causing him some discomfort.

Silvery blonde hair, dark lashes, and brows shaded somewhere in between the two. She was stunning.

But he’d not allow her to call him Sinner.

‘That is only for those who’ve earned the right.’

With his signature twisted, one-sided smile which he hoped kept her attention on his face, he stacked up his used utensils and left the kitchen with a flamboyant wave of thanks to Polly.

He should be quaking in his boots—slippers. But the truth was, he felt as clear-headed as he”d been when he”d woken yesterday morning and as if several tons of darkness had lifted off his soul.

Soul? That was the second time he’d thought of his soul in connection with Lady Verity Davencourt.

This can”t go on, Sin,he lectured himself when he regained his room and shut the door with a decisive click. Marriage won”t work for you. What would you do with her if you took a mind to sail with Nik or any other of our captains on their voyages? Because you get bored with London and England, and fidelity has not been your strong suit. Especially if you land in Jamaica or Calcutta after months at sea. You do have more control over your needs than you used to but even so, you”ve not been used to depriving yourself when the hunger rides you.

The internal lecture continued as he shaved and dressed.

Marriage—yes or no?Gabe”s stern, challenging eyes seemed to be looking back at him from the mirror, but ‘Yes’ would not form in his brain.

Verity would expect hearts and flowers, the monologue in his head continued. She is that kind of woman. She”s also a lot wicked beneath that ‘little girl’ persona she”s cultivated.

Passion and desire taunted him from those unusual sea-nymph eyes.

He stood at the mirror, tying a fresh neck cloth and critically considering his smoothly shaven face.

It was a rugged, lived in face, a stark contrast to the dew-fresh, youthful complexion of his fairy.

Innocence in the flesh. Or was she?

When her eyes rested on him he’d swear she saw right into the dark center of him where his desire for her was becoming a ravening beast not to be denied.

No.

He was better than that. More controlled than that. Had way more experience and maturity in his thirty-five years than she at a mere twenty, so it was up to him to keep his distance, deny his base desires, and put the elusive fairy-witch out of his mind.

As he walked downstairs with Deus and Hawk, who he met in the hallway, his thoughts were already fixed on pancakes.

And how, if he ate the whole platterful he hoped to find on the sideboard, no one else would get to taste them and know who’d made them.

He”d win the bet.

Then, somehow he”d have to hint Lucy into an evening of dancing again—

‘Where have you been, Very?’ Angel asked as she slipped back into their room, breathless from running all the way upstairs.

Victoria, who was standing closest to Verity because she”d been about to open the door, sniffed deeply.

‘I smell pancakes. Please tell me we have pancakes for breakfast.’

‘We have pancakes for breakfast,’ Verity muttered dutifully and pushed past them into the room. ‘Wait for me. In fact, help me to change—and—make sure you swoon over my pancakes once we”re at table.’

‘If there are any left by the time we get down there,’ Vic grumbled. ‘Get that rag off her, Angel, while I find her something decent to wear.’

In minutes, they had her gowned in an apricot muslin with a spring green ribbon tied beneath her breasts and a cashmere shawl in similar shades of green around her shoulders.

Angel had tied another piece of green ribbon around Verity’s silvery blonde curls and massed them in a cleverly contrived riot on top of her head.

‘You look amazing. Now let”s go. And why do we have to make a point of praising your pancakes?’ she asked, hurrying the other two out the door.

‘Because I might have—made a bet with—someone—that no one will know or care who made them. Least of all that they’d know I would be so—lowering? Helpful? As to slip into the kitchen to help by making a huge batch of pancakes.’

‘A bet with whom?’ Angel pounced. She always wanted to know every last detail. Vic probably did too, but Angel was always quicker to ask and Vic content to wait.

When Verity set off at a gallop along the hallway, Angel grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt.

‘Who, Very?’

‘It wouldn”t be important unless it was Sinner,’ Vic observed, catching them up and raising one auburn eyebrow at Verity.

Verity sighed. Vic might be more reserved and slower to articulate her thoughts, but she was no less demanding than Angel, and usually a mite more perspicacious. She couldn”t keep the delicious truth from these two. They were more than best friends. They were her soul sisters.

‘If I win the bet he has to teach me to drive a curricle.’

‘Oh perfect. Because of course, Ben promised to do so, then he disappeared back to London before he could. What if you lose?’

Warmth flooded her cheeks and Verity covered the telltale rush with her hands.

‘Verity, what are you risking?’ Victoria asked sharply.

‘Only—only all the waltzes—if Lucy has another evening of dancing.’

‘The man is a scandal waiting to happen,’ Angel growled. ‘I don”t think you have any idea what you’re inviting. Sin doesn”t strike me as the marrying sort.’

‘But I imagine,’ Victoria said thoughtfully, ‘that he”d be very good at being the sort of man he is.’

‘Vic!’ Verity and Angel gasped at the same time.

Victoria stared defiantly at them. Such observations were rare from her lips, but she would make them when she perceived the need.

And apparently, Verity mused, she needed to be reminded of what she risked.

‘Men like Sinner only want one thing from a woman—and it”s not marriage. You should have a care, Very, or you could be ruined and left with nothing—but tears.’

Verity blinked from Vic”s lion-gold eyes to Angel’s dark, riveting blue. Vic was in Mother Bear mode, and Angel—Angel was trying to act more worldly than Verity.

Which belief Verity couldn”t fault. Even these closest of friends thought her childishly naive and innocent. It was past time she showed them who she could be.

‘I know all that about him, but he is to be my husband. I would have to admit I am—really eager—to know what that entails.’

‘Very!’

Apparently it was her turn to shock the other two.

‘Sorry, but it”s true,’ she said, without sounding in the least repentant. ‘Come on, if we don”t get downstairs there will be no pancakes left for you to rave over.’

As it turned out Verity need not have worried. At their entry Charity looked up from her plate on which resided less than half a pancake swimming in jam and cream.

‘And there she is, my sister, the pancake queen, looking as if she’d been nowhere near a kitchen in her life,’ Charity sang, waving her fork none too politely in Verity’s direction. ‘You”re lucky Papa is not here to know you”ve been skivvying in the kitchen.’

‘And you will not tell him,’ Verity snapped back before she could stop herself.

Charity gave her younger sister a rare appreciative smile.

‘Heavens, Very, why would I do that when no-one makes pancakes like you do? Even Papa compliments Cook on them when you sneak into the kitchen to make them at home.’

Verity couldn”t prevent her glance from skimming the length of the table until she found Sinclair, staring back at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes, and two pancakes sitting conspicuously on his plate.

A tiny dip of his head and that quirky one-sided grin that was more of a twitching smirk, acknowledged her triumph.

‘You made these pancakes, Lady Verity?’ asked Deus Ayers, a gleaming spark in his eye. With a sideways glance at Sin, he added, ‘Will you marry me so I can have pancakes for breakfast for the rest of my life?’

Along with everybody else, Verity burst out laughing, though only she knew it was more at the sudden black scowl that settled on Sinclair’s brow than Deus’s outrageous offer.

‘It would serve you right if I accepted,’ she told him when the amusement died down, ‘and you truly had to eat pancakes for breakfast for the rest of your life, for I’d allow you nothing else.’

He blew her a kiss across the room and with a happy smile she turned to fill her plate from the sideboard along with Vic and Angel.

‘Very,’ Angel said in an excited whisper by her side. ‘Now he has to teach you to drive a curricle. You lucky beast. Quelle somehow inveigled Papa into teaching her when she was quite young but she was always too busy to teach me when she was at home. It will never happen now she’s married and breeding. And Papa—well, Quelle was always his favorite,’ she finished, with a sulky twist to her mouth.

‘Well, if I learn, I”ll be able to teach you,’ Verity said, with a little twitch of dismay at how confident she sounded. Truth to tell, she was equal parts excited and terrified, but how different could it be to driving a pony cart?

Anyway, no one would be driving anywhere until the snow cleared, which could well be not until the first weeks of spring, if the blanket of white over the countryside beyond the windows was anything to go by.

Gabe would certainly not be letting her loose with his precious shiny new curricle and beautifully matched pair of blacks. Even under Sinclair’s expert tutelage.

With that thought her eyes flew to the man in question. Was he? An expert with the ribbons? She”d never asked, but surely, a gentleman of his caliber would be? For certain, she told herself, he”d be a veritable Corinthian.

He was beckoning them to the three vacant chairs to his left.

‘Sit next to Sinclair,’ Verity hissed in Angelique’s ear.

It was useless to ask Vic. She”d be too shy, but Angelique relished any opportunity to play the minx. In this case, all she had to do was sit herself down in the chair Sinclair clearly expected Verity to choose.

Verity was discovering she had a desire to channel Angel’s minx. She also had a hunch she”d been making it far too easy for an experienced rake like Sinclair to maneuver her into scandalous situations she was all too eager to be trapped in.

If she wanted to be seen as grown-up, she’d better stop acting like a naive, innocent schoolroom miss.

She’d read the Comtesse’s diaries. She had experienced the world through the eyes and private diaries of a seasoned courtesan.

Her own experience might be lacking, but she was a long way from being uninformed.

Especially about the ways and wiles of men like Sinner Wolfenden.

He caught her eye behind Angel’s back as she bent forward to arrange her plate. It was difficult, but Verity kept her smile bright and innocent while his promised a devilish retribution at some future date.

Oh, she was going to enjoy being grown up, and she was reasonably certain Vic and Angel would enjoy helping her. Angel certainly would. Vic might be a little more reticent, but she would come around. They always stood together for each other.