Chapter 6
6 th December 1816
God damn England and her bloody weather.
Sin stared moodily from his window to the stark white world beyond.
That first snowstorm had only been the start of his problems. Every time he”d started to think he might be able to set out for London and some relief for his aching gonads, another storm would blow in, and he”d wake to a continuation of the silent, beautiful world beyond his windows.
Silent, beautiful—and deadly should he give in to this need riding him to set out for the carnal respite to be found in the capital.
Silent, beautiful and deadly—about described Lady bloody Verity. She wasn”t silent, but she had been clever at manufacturing barriers between them at all times so he”d achieved nothing more than the most banal of social chit chat with her at any time over the last week.
Beautiful was not in dispute, and he”d come to the conclusion the minx was definitely deadly—to his peace and good sense and likely his honor if he didn”t get out of this place soon.
Frustration was a canker eating him from the inside out.
He”d arrived here on the 25th of November and it was now the 6th of December. Apart from the driving needs of his body, he needed to be back in London taking care of the Eloise”s cargo, and the Jeshael”s when she made it to port. She could well be in dock already and neither he nor Nik were there to oversee anything.
At least, he imagined Nik was similarly constrained at Ainslee Court.
But his worst problem was right here under this roof.
He’d played billiards and cards until he was cross-eyed and foxed every night until last night, when Lucy had declared they should have another evening of dancing. There were enough gentlemen he really hadn”t needed to bestir himself, but when Gabe announced a waltz he hadn”t been able to resist bending his knee before Lady Verity and begging for her hand in the dance.
All he”d gotten for that was a sharp rap of her fan across his knuckles and a reminder he’d lost the bet so was not entitled to any waltzes with her.
He knew she’d meant it in the light-hearted manner in which the bet had originally been made, but it hadn”t stopped him from feeling the rejection as a personal slight.
And he had felt slighted, he assured himself, not as if she’d cut his heart out of his chest. And it wasn”t jealousy he felt when Hawk Castleton led her out onto the floor, and she”d spun in his arms with every appearance of enjoyment and eyes sparkling up at the damned man as if no one else existed in the world.
And he was not seething with jealousy now.
He was—angry—frustrated—impatient to get to London.
But—not—jealous.
Christ. He needed to punch something. He would suggest it to Gabe.
Sin was the first down to breakfast. He poured himself a cup of coffee after ascertaining there were no pancakes on offer. Taking his cup to the window, he stared out into the blinding whiteness, feeling the keen contrast with the blackness of his mood.
One by one the guests drifted in and settled themselves at the table. Finally, Sin joined them, but had little to offer to the suggestions and propositions for the day’s activities, his moody gaze more often than not resting on the silver-haired sylph, seated as usual, between Victoria and Angelique at the other end of the table.
Best place for her. Far from his reach. But he”d lost control of his eyes and his mind. She was wearing a perfectly demure coral pink muslin gown with a square-cut neckline showing the upper swell of her breasts and a hint of cleavage. The warm color reflected in her cheeks and made her eyes seem more luminous than usual.
A bloody siren, that”s what she was, sitting on her rock in the ocean, calling to him, the sucker who would wreck his ship, and himself, on the rocks to get to her.
Fuck it.
‘What”s wrong, Sin?’ Jackson asked.
A low growl rumbled in his throat. Had he said that aloud?
With one last venomous glance for his lovely torment, he turned his attention to Jack. Perhaps if he got involved in conversation, he could keep his mind off her.
‘I”m about to lose my rag with all this inactivity,’ he admitted. Jack would understand. It wasn’t long since he”d been a roving rogue like Sinclair. ‘How the devil do you keep so cheerful?’
‘Your problem,’ Jackson said, leaning closer so his words did not carry down the table, ‘is the lack of a good woman you can inveigle into bed whenever the day’s activities pall.’
Sin snorted.
‘You’re pussy-whipped.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jack agreed with a wide grin, ‘and I”ve never been happier.’
‘Fuck,’ Sin muttered again and rose to refill his coffee cup.
Gabe and Lucy entered the room while he waited for Horsham to fetch a fresh pot of the black brew he loved.
‘What”s up, Sinner, my best and worst of brothers?’ Gabe demanded after one glance at Sin.
‘What do you mean worst?’ Sin grumbled.
Gabe chortled.
‘Is the confinement getting to you? You”re my only brother, thus it follows, you”re the best, the worst, and everything in between. You have no competition.’
Sin rolled his eyes.
‘You”re a bloody ray of sunshine this morning. Why don”t you go out there and melt the f—snow? I almost wish I was frying my arse off in India.’
‘No one could suggest there is anything sunny about your mood this morning. And you”re losing control of your tongue,’ Gabe warned softly. ‘What”s up?’
It wasn’t just his tongue in danger of slipping its leash entirely.
‘I need to get out of here. And failing that, I need to hit something. We need a boxing or wrestling tourney or a bloody jousting match.’
‘Ah. How about the gentlemen have a fencing tourney in the Armory after breakfast? Would that help?’
‘Maybe,’ Sin muttered.
He”d rather hit something, but perhaps fencing would keep him a little more civilized.
Or not.
The Winter Drawing-room was a hive of industry. The fires were lit at either end of the vast room and the ladies were clustered around either Charity or Quelle, who were giving lessons in sketching. Quelle’s expertise was large landscapes so her techniques were different to those Charity utilized for her miniatures.
Verity chose to sit on the perimeter of the group around Quelle. She could watch her sister at work anytime she liked.
The block of drawing paper on her lap was blank. She knew what would emerge once she started drawing and she had no intention of sharing with the whole house party how fixated she was on Sinner Wolfenden.
Another reason she’d chosen to sit where she had, was because it was closest to the door into the screened gallery, the open side of which looked down onto the long expanse of the black and white marble-tiled Armory
Occasionally, she”d watched from an old trunk tucked away in a window alcove half way along the outer wall, while Quelle and Lucy, Charity and Carly practiced their swordsmanship. Especially when Victoria and Angelique joined them.
How she wished she was down there now.
The distant clash of swords reached her through the door she’d carefully left only slightly ajar. Her plan had been to step through and hide in the shadows of the upper gallery so she could watch the gentlemen below.
You”re a scandal waiting to happen.
She could hear Victoria”s voice, scolding in her solemn way. Vic would probably be right, but she was so bored, and she was tired, deathly tired, of doing the right thing and holding Sinclair Wolfenden beyond arm”s length.
She wanted so much more than the heated glowers he bestowed on her whenever she looked his way and found him watching her.
She could still feel the hot, demanding pressure of his lips on hers that day at the piano in the drawing room and the shocking intrusion of his tongue into her mouth. The even more wicked way her body had responded to his, heating and—melting.
The Comtesse had written of the signs of a woman”s arousal as well as a man”s—which she”d felt against her bottom as he held her on his lap.
And she”d run, in a panic. Some of it had been for what she felt, but more was a terror of being caught.
She was aroused again now from simply thinking about the blasted man. Well, she wouldn”t run away next time. She”d stay—and see how far he”d go. What pleasure he”d offer her.
For whatever negative the Comtesse had had to say about the life of a courtesan, she”d also taken great care to stress with the right man there was nothing else to compare.
How could Sinner not be the right man for her? He was to be her husband.
A burst of loud male laughter drifted up from the Armory and Lady Susanna, Gabe and Sin’s mother, rose and closed the door.
‘We don”t need to hear that,’ she said with a moue of disapproval as she sat back down.
Now Verity couldn”t even hear them, or distinguish the occasional gruff growly laugh she knew belonged to Sinclair. She couldn”t experience the shiver of heat it elicited all down her spine.
She wanted to be out in the gallery but had already realized slipping through that door would be too obvious.
She slanted her eyes sideways to check on Angel and Victoria. The two appeared to be engulfed in sketching each other, though as always, Vic’s page bore only a few vague lines that pretty much left interpretation up to the imagination of the observer. Apparently Quelle was instructing in portrait sketching.
No wonder there was not one line on her own paper. She”d heard none of it.
Slowly and smoothly, she rose, leaving her block of paper and charcoals on her seat, and glided around the room to the other door. No one bothered to query her, so she”d no need to use the excuse of going to the necessary.
Once in the hallway outside the room, she dashed for the servant’s staircase down to the service rooms of the house. Wandering through the kitchens as if she had nothing better to do, she purloined a rock cake with a smile for Polly, before heading to the narrow back staircase up to the screened gallery. Lifting her skirts she skipped upstairs as fast as she could manage.
The men’s voices became louder, the closer she got and she was glad now Lady Suzanna had closed the door from the drawing room. No one would notice anything when she slipped past.
But she did wish she hadn”t worn the coral gown. It was bright and could easily give her away. The thought was lost as she heard a coarse challenge to Gabe in Sinclair’s deep throaty voice.
‘Your son”s ugly—like you—when he screws up his face to cry. That has to be worth a duel surely?’
‘Dammit, Sin. Haven”t you had enough? You”ve bested Jack and Deus and Quinn. Isn’t that enough for you?
‘Not nearly,’ Sin answered, his voice almost feral. ‘You wouldn’t have let me get away with that insult when we were lads. Are you too old? Don”t Colonels actually fight? Just order someone else to do it for them?’
Apparently Gabe couldn”t let that stand and with a shout of ‘En garde!’ the clash of swords began again. And no one was shouting. As if they were all caught up in a fight that might get more serious than it was meant to.
Verity had to see. She crept closer to the screen, but they were fighting directly below her. If she moved any further along where part of the ancient carved filigree had been broken out of the screen, she risked being seen.
How scandalous would it be if she was discovered lurking in the shadows watching gentlemen at their sport?
But she had to see Sinner. He”d be less than his usual well-put-together self, more like the slightly scruffy Sinner who’d visited the kitchens that morning last week. It was likely his hair would be roughed up, and sweat would be running down his face. He”d have taken his coat off.
She inched further along, and suddenly, he danced out into the middle of the floor from somewhere beneath her, Gabe following.
Darting, parrying, advancing—
With no shirt on.
Sinner had taken his shirt off.
Oh. My. Lord. His chest and belly rippled with muscle and ran with sweat that glistened in the dark hair molding and highlighting every perfect inch of his torso.
Realizing she was nearly as wet in her private places with no physical exertion at all, she almost lost her slipper through the hole in the screen.
Snatching her foot back with a little gasp, she pressed her body against the back wall and struggled to draw breath and settle the thundering of her heart.
Not her heart. That was feet thundering up the narrow staircase from the Armory below.
Scandal—or Sinner—had found her.
If there was a voice anywhere in his head telling him he was about to make the stupidest move of his life, Sin was beyond listening. Verity Davencourt had been following, fascinating, inflaming him with her eyes since the day he”d arrived.
Add in that dainty but curvy body and an innocence somehow real and illusory all at once and he”d run through every last skerrick of sense, control and self-preservation he had.
The brazen little hussy was hiding up here in the minstrel’s gallery, spying on the men in their uncouth behavior and various states of undress.
In his case, naked to the waist.
Was that what she”d been hoping for? A glimpse of his manly body? If so, all her maidenly fantasies were about to be realized.
Or shattered.
When he gained the narrow upper floor she was pressed against the door in the back wall, one hand covering her mouth and the other fluttering about as if that were enough to hold him off, send him hurtling back down the staircase at double the speed he’d raced up it.
It should have been.
It wasn”t.
Not nearly enough.
Eyes like two luminous oceans in her face, she watched him advance, stalk really, the length of the exquisitely carved Elizabethan gallery.
He saw nothing but that—siren in coral pink—sitting on her rock—calling to him.
A half-dozen strides, and he was further snared by her scent. Honeysuckle and something else he didn”t recognize. The scent of his faerie goddess.
His nemesis.
Her hand fell away from her mouth and her nostrils twitched. He was half naked, running with sweat—and feeling savage.
Any minute now she’d duck, run, disappear through the door at her back, and he”d be left bashing his screaming gonads against the wall and cursing—
Her fluttering hand came to rest against his chest, one dainty finger gliding through the sweat, over his hard brown nipple and following a runnel of sticky, salty moisture down into his belly button just visible above the band of his trousers.
Had he really thought her innocent? Whatever he”d thought, all that registered now was the need to catch, claim, conquer.
Take what he”d craved ever since he”d kissed her in the drawing room. Days ago. The way he”d suffered since made it feel like a lifetime.
His hands clasped her head, fingers burrowing into the silvery coils of her hair, loosening pins and ribbons to finally bury in the wicked silky allure, and hold her head at the exact angle he wanted, to possess that open bee-stung mouth. She was breathing almost as hard as he was, and his tongue delved through her quivering lips to find her incredible moist heat, to taste the essence of Lady Verity Davencourt.
The damson jam she”d had on her bread roll at breakfast, the bread roll he”d been envying.
The coffee she”d had to follow. He”d noted it all.
Tasted it now. Liked damson jam and coffee. Now they were his favorites.
He pushed her hard up against the door, slipped his knee between her thighs, pressing up against her mons. Felt her heat course through the whole of his body. His siren was aroused. No doubt he”d find her wet, if there weren”t so many layers of clothing between them.
He needed to do something about that.
The soft moans humming into his mouth told him she”d not stop him. He drifted kisses down her chin and on to her neck, stopping to circle at the wildly pulsing soft spot at the base of her throat.
More. He needed more.
‘Sinner,’ she breathed, tossing her head restlessly against the panels of the door and spearing her fingers into the hot sweaty mess of his hair.
He was not the only one who needed more. But he was the only one who would ever be allowed to give it to her.
A gravelly rumble rose in his throat. A warning to any others who would dare come near her, a declaration of ownership, a signal of intent to possess.
His mouth found the enticing swell at the edge of her gown. A sense of fierce urgency overtook him, and he had to find her nipple, and suck it into his mouth.
Sear her with his hunger. As if thought was command, his fingers delved between hot, soft flesh and tight silk—
‘Sinner! God dammit man, what the devil are you doing?’
A large hand grabbed the hair on his head and pulled.
Hard.
At the same moment, the door behind Verity opened, and she started to fall backwards through it into the arms of his startled mother.
Fuck. What was happening? How did this happen? It was like being trapped in a nightmare.
If only. He was half naked, attacking Verity and well on the way to dragging her bodice down and feasting. Another few minutes and he’d have had her skirts up around her waist, and his cock buried right up to her virgin womb—
He could only stare at her, leaning almost senseless in his mother”s arms.
His mother.
Verity’s lips—ravaged. One breast almost exposed. Was she even aware who held her? What this moment signified?
And his damned gonads ached with a ferocity he”d never known. If Gabe”s hand wasn”t still tightly tangled in his hair he”d tear her from his mother”s grasp and finish what he”d started.
Like a cannon going off in his head or a dowsing with a bucket of ice, sanity returned.
Too late.
‘You have dishonored the daughter of the Earl of Stannesford and moreover, a young lady under my protection. You will make it right in the only honorable way open to you. You will call on the Earl the moment the snow clears enough to get down to the village, and in the meantime you will stay away from Lady Verity.’
With a vicious lunge, Sin freed himself from his brother”s grip, his mouth already working to hurl denials and curses, until his gaze rested on Verity’s white, horrified face and his mother”s pained, saddened one.
He”d disappointed her again.
Likely, he”d more than disappointed Lady Verity Davencourt.
As for himself, he was beyond disappointed. There were no words to describe the black, swirling thunderstorm of fury and self-denigration gestating, burgeoning within him, until that one moment in time that had been as magical as an iridescent bubble floating in sunshine, burst leaving only disbelief it had ever existed.
Disbelief he”d been so out of control he”d allowed himself to be enticed, beguiled, bewitched by a clever, designing Jezebel.
Innocent be damned. She was the best bloody actress he”d ever beheld. Had he even registered her declaration he was to be her husband? Her intentions had been clear from the start. She”d decided it was time to snare herself a husband, and he had fallen easy prey to the silken, honey-baited trap she”d set.
Why?
And only now the most obvious answer popped into his head. She was likely already increasing with another man”s child and he was the dupe to be saddled with a cuckoo in his nest.
Christ. The nearest he’d ever wanted to come to owning a nest was a bloody crow’s nest at the top of a ship”s mast.
‘Looks like you got what you were after,’ he snarled, shaking Gabriel”s hand off his shoulder where it had come to rest heavily.
Ignoring the expression of shocked anger flooding Verity”s face, he stormed down the stairs to the armory, snatched his shirt off the chest where he”d tossed it—in that other lifetime when he”d been free—and strode along to Gabe”s study. There was always a full bottle of whisky and another of brandy in the tantalus on the sideboard.
Reaching his goal unhindered, he tilted the heavy crystal brandy decanter to his lips and tossed back a healthy draught as if it were ale.
‘Burn you bastard,’ he gasped. ‘Burn the last quarter hour from my consciousness.’
‘Not even my best Armagnac is going to do that. And the last quarter hour be damned. You’ve been pursuing the lass from the day you arrived. You”re an intelligent man, Sin, and you were warned. There’s no way you can argue you didn”t know what you were risking.’
Sin banged his head against the wood-paneled wall, then took another swig of the brandy to drown the pain in his head by replacing it with the searing burn in his gut.
Gabe”s expression didn”t soften.
‘It”s what she”s been after all along. Told me as much.’
‘Told you? That she wanted to marry you?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What then—exactly?’
Sin replaced the stopper on the decanter and returned it to the tantalus, then braced himself with both arms against the mantelpiece and stared unseeingly down into the fire.
What had she said—exactly?
‘If you are to be my husband, you should understand from the outset that I don”t respond well to orders.’
Apparently, her words were carved in his memory, like an ancient mantra forged in stone.
‘What elicited that—recommendation—from the lass?’
‘I”d ordered her to sit and play the piano for me.’
‘You hadn”t previously given her to understand you were courting her, with serious intent? Verbal, that is. We’ll ignore the issue of your open and determined pursuit—for now.’
‘Damn, you do a great impersonation of our father.’
‘An astute and honorable man, our father. I will not be deviated from this, Sin, nor will I allow you to be. This is one peccadillo you will not walk away from. And I did warn you the lass is clairvoyant. Sees and knows things others don’t. At least, according to my wife. Why don”t you go upstairs and get cleaned up? It”s been a long time since you and I dueled against one another. We could have done with a few squadrons of men on the Peninsula, who fought with your skill and dedication. Take the brandy with you if you want it. Take the afternoon to think about things. I know you, Sin. You will understand and accept what you have to do.’
He would. Sin knew that already. But he doubted a barrel of the best brandy to be had was going to make him like it.
Shackled.
Caught.
He”d grabbed for the cheese.
The ghost of Nik”s unholy laughter followed him out of the study and up the stairs to the brooding, accusing silence of his room.
Verity closed her eyes and sank back into Lady Suzanna’s warm motherly embrace.
Lady Suzanna. Sinclair”s mother. What had she done?
So, Sinclair was to be her husband, and it had come about exactly as she had not wanted—with his mother and his brother as witnesses.
And Sin blamed her and hated her. What sort of marriage could they possibly have—if it started out this way?
She was not entirely to blame. She had slipped in here to spy, but it was he who had stormed up the stairs and attacked her as if—as if he—couldn”t—
‘Oh damn, and blast,’ she whispered fiercely, opening her eyes and moving away from Lady Suzanna’s support. ‘Now, what do I do?’
She dragged her hands over her face and righted the bodice of her gown with trembling fingers. Tears burned hot behind her eyelids, but she was not a child anymore. Tears were too easy.
‘Go on up to your room, dear. I”ll have a tea tray sent up and I”ll bring your sister and Lucy up to you. It will be alright, Verity. My Sinclair is a little rough around the edges, but he is still honorable, as he was raised to be. He will do what he knows he must.’
‘Oh, Lady Suzanna,’ Verity whispered, reaching for her hands. ‘I”m so sorry. It was not meant to be like this. I”m sure it wasn”t. I see things. Know things. Spirit showed me Sinclair would be my husband. I didn”t think I was even ready for a husband, but there he was. And he noticed me too.’
‘Do you love my son, Verity?’ There was a wistful note in Lady Suzanna’s voice, that of a mother only wanting happiness for her child. ‘He would deny it with every breath, but love is what he needs. Don”t let his rakish ways fool you. I know I”m his mother, and I’m biased, but beneath that hardened, roguish veneer he wears is a man with needs and feelings like any other. Don”t give up on him, please. This was probably the only way he could ever be brought to marriage and I”ve seen how it has been with him this last week. He has not been able to keep his eyes off you, and I would never have believed he would let himself succumb to that. Whatever this is, it’s stronger than him. I think he has feelings for you. Dare I hope, you also have feelings for him?’
Verity felt as if her heart would break for the hope looking out of Lady Suzanna’s eyes. Eyes the same smoky grey as Sinclair’s, without the storm and tumult so often raging in his.
She wished she could give the woman the answer she wanted, but she would not lie.
‘I—I have no idea what I really feel for Sinclair, my Lady. He—he excites me, overwhelms me, even frightens me a little. But I”m sure, in the brief vision I had where I saw him as my husband, that there was an aura of love around us. It doesn”t feel like that now, but if we do marry, I would hope we might come to—love—each other. Right now though? I think he hates me, and I feel—angry, I guess. After all, it wasn’t I who came storming up the stairs and—and attacked him. Yet—from his last words, I think he considers this whole mess my fault.’
‘Thank you for your honesty, Verity. I believe you will do. Yes, you will do very well,’ Lady Suzanna said warmly, giving Verity a brief hug. ‘Don”t let him browbeat you. Be strong and have faith in yourself. I believe you are what that man needs.’
‘You—you do?’ Verity whispered, awe flowing through her at the easy acceptance Sinclair’s mother showed her.
‘I do—,’ Lady Suzanna began, but was interrupted by Lucy appearing at the top of the stairs from the Armory below.
‘Very? Are you alright? Gabe said—’
‘I”m fine,’ Verity muttered hurriedly, dropping her head and twisting her hands in the stuff of her gown. Then, remembering she was an adult now, raised it again and faced this dear friend with honesty. ‘Well, no I”m not really and it”s likely my own fault, or partly anyway, for sneaking out here to spy on the men. But I was so bored, and—’
‘And my brother-in-law so fascinating,’ Lucy finished for her. ‘Come here, chicken,’ she said, holding out her arms. ‘It will be all right. Let”s go up to my sitting room and have a cup of tea and regroup. Mama?’ Lucy asked, turning to her mother-in-law. ‘Are you alright? Do you want to come up with us? Or do you want to go and berate your sons?’
‘I think I will leave them to sort themselves out. It looked like they both needed a bath—and to find some clothes,’ she added with a twitch of her elegant nose. ‘I will come up with you. Verity doesn”t have her mother here and since I am to be her mother-in-law, I could fill that role now—if you will let me, Verity?’
She didn”t deserve this woman. So accepting. So welcoming. When she’d been caught in a shameless embrace with her son.
Her half naked, sweat-streaked son.
Verity rubbed her hands down the folds of her gown. Even now the sensation of slick sweat over hair dusted skin tingled through her fingertips. Breath stuttered in her chest and she struggled to settle herself.
‘Thank you, Lady Suz—,’
‘Mama, dear. I am to be your mama-in-law. I would be honored if you would call me Mama as Lucy does.’
‘Mama. Oh—!’
Thank the universe her own Mama was not here to witness her shame. Or Papa.
And finally the tears came, burning a trail down her cheeks and dripping onto her bodice, a stark contrast to the sudden burst of carefree feminine laughter from the other side of the door.
‘Come on, Very,’ Lucy said, slipping her arm around the younger woman. ‘Let”s get you up to my sitting room where you can be sure of a little privacy. No one else knows anything yet. I didn”t like to interrupt Charity and cause a stir in there. I will let Char know when they are finished.’
‘There”s nothing to know,’ Verity muttered. ‘Except the scandal of being found in Sinner’s arms—and him without even a shirt covering his naked chest.’ Despite a foolish hunger to be right back there even now, she continued, ‘He hasn”t asked, and I haven”t said yes.’
‘But he will. And you will,’ Lucy said quickly.
‘I won”t,’ Verity said truculently. ‘If Gabriel has to stand behind him twisting his arm up his back—or offering some other dire threat, I’d rather be ruined.’
‘You wouldn’t, and it won”t be like that. You’ll see,’ Lucy soothed. ‘Come on.’
Once upstairs, a tea tray was swiftly ordered and Verity struggled to sip her way through half a cup.
At last, Lady Suzanna suggested a tiny dose of laudanum and a sleep. Verity wanted to argue against such a weakness, but the temptation of oblivion for an hour or two was too much.
‘You will wake refreshed for when my son proposes.’
‘I don”t believe he will.’
‘He will,’ Lady Suzanna said, a hint of steel in her soft voice.
‘Well, I wish he wouldn”t,’ Verity muttered wearily before drifting off to sleep.