Chapter 7
Sinclair stepped out of the bath, dried off and stood before the cheval mirror, observing his body with a critical eye. This body that had betrayed him into the state of holy matrimony.
A litany of curses rose to the forefront of his mind and he uttered several of them aloud as he stepped away from the mirror.
His damned body was ready to betray him again.
Reacting, anticipating, rising to the thought of Verity Davencourt in his bed every night.
Well, that was not going to happen. Not until he was certain she did not swell with another man”s child. He”d been careful all his life not to leave any issue from his dalliances. There was no way he intended to be duped into raising another man”s careless sowing of his seed.
Feeling a bitter kinship with his cousin, Quin, he vowed he”d seek divorce if the chit had duped him.
Being married to her and denying himself her bed would not be easy. The allure she held for him was like nothing he”d ever experienced.
Resist her you will, he commanded himself, as he put the finishing touches to his neck cloth and shrugged into his jacket.
With a swipe of a comb through his hair he declared himself ready for anything, even going on his knee and begging to put a damned noose around his neck.
Now, what should he do? He didn’t feel like facing the whole party in the drawing room. Billiards, perhaps, and a cigar.
He headed downstairs and along to the billiard room where at least he could only expect to have to face other gentlemen. Quin, Deus and Hawk were lounging about with drinks in their hands and looking as if they’d also freshened up from their earlier exertions.
They also looked about as sullen as he felt.
‘Sin, what the devil have you done?’ Quin asked, sympathy rife in his voice.
Sinclair strode immediately to the sideboard loaded with bottles and decanters and poured himself a large brandy and reached for a cigar.
Damn, he needed both.
‘Played with fire, and when you play with fire, you get burnt.’ The unsympathetic comment came from Gabe, who’d been staring broodily out the window in the far corner of the room.
Sin took a deep draught of the brandy and set it aside. Holding the unlit cigar, he faced his brother, cousin and friends.
‘I apologize if I put a damper on your party, Gabe, gentlemen. But I own I am fully responsible for what happened. It would seem this bastion of bachelorhood has taken another nail in its coffin—driven by my own hot-blooded hand. For that also, I apologize.’
Turning to Gabriel, he found his brother watching him with that stern expression that reminded him so much of Papa when either of them had displeased him.
Sin fully acknowledged he”d probably faced it many more times than Gabe had. Would be facing it now if Papa were alive.
He”d have been disappointed in his younger son—again.
Dammit, Mama would be disappointed enough for all of them, and Gabe was definitely a worthy stand-in for Papa.
Shame bit deep, but Sinclair Wolfenden had never bowed to shame. He kept his head up and his gaze clear and direct. The only way forward, had to be the honorable way.
‘Gabe, perhaps you could ask Lucy—or Mama—to bring Lady Verity to the library in say—an hour? Then you can announce the engagement at dinner. Subject to her Papa’s approval, of course.’
Gabe nodded, a little of the darkness leaching from his expression.
‘Thanks, Sin, I will do that. You seem certain Lady Verity will accept you. What if she refuses your suit?’
Why would she? It”s what the chit had been angling for all week.
A strange, hot feeling of dread gripped his belly, and an unusual uncertainty shriveled the edges of his mind.
He was never uncertain about anything. The faerie witch wanted him as much as he wanted her. There was no way she”d turn him down.
Was there? And shouldn”t he be elated by the possibility? Leaving her to find some other sucker to save her from her predicament?
Some other man to claim the right to have her in his bed?
A feral roar almost ripped through his belly to emanate in furious denial. No other man should ever be allowed to touch her.
Mine. The word leapt into his mind to mock him in six-foot-high letters of fire.
But if his suspicions were correct and some other conscienceless bastard had already got her with child, he’d hunt him down and kill—
Whoa. Getting way, way ahead of yourself, Sin.
Something, some sound, made him look up at his brother. The sod was grinning like a loon, scarcely able to contain his mirth.
‘What?’ Sin snarled, still struggling to clear the red haze of jealousy that had completely usurped his mind.
Jealousy? Oh, bloody hell. That”s exactly what it was.
‘You are so, so hooked,’ Gabe told him, satisfaction almost oozing from his every pore.
Sin thought of answering with a fist to the Colonel”s oh-so-perfect nose, then sank down into a chair and dropped his head on his hands.
He was. Caught. Hook, line, and the lead sinker further weighted with the inescapable magic of fairy dust.
Which didn”t change who he was or how he was, he argued to himself. Just because she’d netted him with her illusion of innocence and promise of passion didn”t mean he”d grant her anything but his honor and his name.
He, Sinner Wolfenden, was still in control.
Rising to his feet, he made for the door with no idea where he was going, except away from his earlier perceived sanctuary of the billiard room and the knowing grins on every face of his so-called friends.
‘The library. In an hour,’ he shot at Gabe over his shoulder, as he left, closing the door carefully behind him. Slamming it, as every cell in his body demanded, would only give them more to smirk about.
Control. He was in control. That much he would retain.
Where to go, with the sanctuary at his back denied him? As was the surcease of a good hard ride. He stopped for a moment in the Great Hall to stare out the windows at the unrelenting whiteness with not a hardy soul stirring. He was hardy enough, or crazed enough, to ride anyway. But he only had an hour, and it was hardly fair to his horse.
Samson would be up for it, as always, and would carry him effortlessly and faithfully. But perhaps it was best if he sought the solace of the library and a quiet, fortifying brandy he knew he”d find there. Then he could, sip by sip, burn away the lingering leaden feeling of dread that had settled deep in his gut when Gabe voiced doubts as to whether his proposal would be greeted with acceptance.
When had he become this besotted idiot, this stranger he”d had no idea was lurking within himself?
Cynicism towards women had taken root in him when he was sixteen, and he discovered how easy it was to seduce the woman who professed to love Gabe. He”d been a hardened and wolfish rake by the time he went to university. He and his group of friends had pursued and plundered wherever they”d found a willing woman, or one who could be seduced.
No woman had been safe from them, until—the Lady Eloise Petchell affair.
As this thought surfaced, he bolted up the stairs into the library, his hands almost shaking as he reached for the brandy decanter. It wasn”t until the first burn hit his belly that he turned to sweep the room to ensure he was alone.
Sagging in gratitude for the empty silence, he dropped into a large leather wingback in front of the fire and took another pensive sip of the brandy.
As he”d known they would, his thoughts picked up from where he’d turned and tried to run from them.
They’d been a feckless, careless bunch, he and his fellow privileged students.
Until one of them, Lord Hedley Parsemont, seduced the sister of another of them, Lord Bronte Petchell.
Ruined an innocent with a life barely begun.
An innocent whose only perceived recourse had been to cast herself into the murky, unforgiving depths of the Thames.
Petchell and Parsemont had met over pistols at dawn. Of course, they had, and all the rest of the group had gathered with them in the mist-laden dawn to see justice done with all honor.
To the bitter loss of the Petchell family, Parsemont proved the better shot, suffering only a bullet through the shoulder while Petchell took it through the heart.
The Petchell family lost a daughter and a son in traumatically short order, and Parsemont was escorted to the first ship leaving British soil by a group of disbelieving and very angry young men. That he lived to depart at all was probably only due to the fact they’d all been shocked and sobered by the sudden tragic death of their friend and his sister.
Death, they realized, was final. Life was a serious business after all.
That was the day he’d become an adult, begun thinking before acting, thinking about consequences and the rights and feelings of others.
He”d seen very little of the rest of them in the group since, but he’d named his first ship in memory of Lady Eloise Petchell.
The consequences had been terminal for Lady Eloise. Naming a ship the Princess Eloise in her honor only served to keep her in his memory, where she belonged.
A stark, cruel, painful reminder of what one risked when one allowed oneself to become debauched by carelessness, selfishness and over-inflated ego.
Not one innocent had he pursued in all those years since, a vow he”d made to Eloise and Bronte Petchell in the darkness of his soul.
He”d kept that vow.
Never been in danger of breaking it.
Until Lady Verity Davencourt.
Who might, or might not, be as innocent as she appeared.
Therefore, he would wed her, for he had ruined her as surely as Parsemont had ruined Eloise.
But he would not bed her until he was certain of that damned innocence.
The brandy had successfully burned away any thought she might refuse him.
To her surprise, Verity actually slept. The tiny dose of laudanum had obviously done its work.
Not that she felt any better. Just more truculent and defiant. A most un-Verity way of being which she wasn”t sure how to handle. One thing was for certain however, she was not going to be allowed to follow her usual course and disappear somewhere no one would think to look for her until whatever drama afoot had dissipated.
This one was not going to dissipate. Gabe and Lucy and Lady Susanna were all in league to ensure the situation—Sinner and her—was dealt with as quickly, honorably and quietly as possible.
Truculence and defiance kept her mute while Lucy helped to change her gown, refusing to let her don the stained calico dress she wore for gardening and flower arranging, and insisting she wear one of her new gowns.
‘Bear in mind, Very,’ Lucy said gently, ‘you will be wearing this gown for dinner this evening, and the whole aim of becoming betrothed is to avoid a scandal. If you are obviously upset, annoyed, reluctant, or whatever you’re feeling, a sour face and a disrespectful gown will tell everyone there definitely is a scandal. No, my dear, I cannot allow that. Besides, that would be a childish reaction, don”t you think?’
Lucy knew her too well. Dearest Lucy, always mature beyond her years because she”d had to be. While Verity—
Verity took a few deep breaths and allowed Lucy to dress her in the soft sea-green silk she knew exactly matched her eyes. Not that she cared about that at the moment.
No, she cared about not making a mistake she’d regret for the rest of her life.
She cared about not giving Sinner Wolfenden the satisfaction.
Cared about making the responsible, adult choice.
If he even asked her.
She remained mute as she walked downstairs with Lucy which meant she kept the declaration she wanted to shout to the rafters, behind her teeth. Lucy would only try patiently to talk her out of refusing the bounder’s suit.
If he asked her.
She hadn”t asked where they were going, had presumed they were headed to the drawing room. Steeling herself to face the entire party of guests, she was startled when Lucy pulled her away from the drawing room and through the Long Gallery to the library.
The room appeared empty when they first entered, then a tall figure unraveled itself from the leather wingback by the fire.
‘Lady Lucy. Lady Verity,’ he began formally, but Lucy cut him short.
‘You two need some time together—to discuss things,’ she said firmly. ‘And, Sinner, I”m sure we can trust you to act the gentleman.’
It sounded like an order, not a question.
Sinclair’s mouth hardened, and his eyes narrowed, but his only reaction was a terse nod for his sister-in-law.
‘I”ll leave you to sort it out then,’ she said and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
Sin followed her across the room and Verity thought he meant to leave as well. Instead, he locked the door.
‘This is a discussion that needs no interruptions,’ he said, coming back to stand by the mantelpiece and survey her from eyes the violet-tinged grey of rolling thunder heads.
‘Won’t you take a seat, Lady Verity?’ he asked, in a calm, even voice belying any tempest roiling in his gaze.
Verity subsided into the matching wingback opposite where he”d been sitting, not because he”d so courteously invited it, but because her legs suddenly felt as if they might give out.
Immaculately clad in a dark blue coat, lighter blue waistcoat, perfectly tied neck cloth, well fitted tan breeches and polished Hessian”s, he was every bit as breathtaking as he’d been earlier, sans coat, waistcoat or even shirt.
She’d taken none of that into account when telling herself boldly she”d refuse his suit. Something about the man called to her and it wasn”t just that she knew they were to be man and wife. It was something else entirely.
Something that took hold of her very core, ringing and twisting it until she heated, burned, ached for him.
Well, that was not love. It was lust.
The Comtesse had been clear in her writings about the difference between the two. She”d also maintained lust alone was not enough on which to build a lifetime of happiness.
And I am determined on a lifetime of happiness, Verity counseled herself, straightening her spine and setting her features as best she could into something she hoped portrayed maturity, politeness, and a determination not to be browbeaten by anyone into committing to a liaison she had no desire for.
Her carefully posed expression almost slipped as she considered that mendacious thought. No matter what she told herself, she could not deny she desired this man.
But—botheration—she”d not make it easy for him. He”d pursued her, compromised her and now he must face the consequences.
As must she.
Sitting up straight with her ankles together, knees at a ladylike angle and hands lightly clasped in her lap, she could only hope she presented a picture of demureness she was nowhere close to feeling.
‘So what are we to discuss, sir?’ she asked, her eyes firmly fixed on the fire.
If she didn”t look at him she wouldn”t be tempted to leap into his arms and beg to resume what had been so summarily terminated in the minstrels’ gallery.
Was she that shameless? Apparently she was, so keeping her eyes away from all that masculine temptation was a wise thing to do if she was to retain any control over the situation—or at least over herself.
‘Since the day I arrived, you have been pursuing me. May I ask why?’
With that blatant challenge, her eyes would not obey her and flew to clash with his, all stormy midnight thunder.
‘I? Pursuing you?’ she said, the words little more than a whisper of fury. ‘How dare you?’
Leaping to her feet, she crossed the rug and stabbed her finger into his chest.
‘I certainly don”t wish to marry a man who—who paints pictures over reality to suit his own devious agenda.’
His eyes narrowed into slits of blue lightning and his hands were clenching at his sides as if to keep from—from strangling her most likely.
‘I haven”t—asked you—to marry me.’
Each word slammed into her with the force of a smith”s hammer.
Stepping back, Verity scored him with her most furious glare. ‘Lucy was right to doubt you,’ she said, forcing a chill of disdain into her voice. ‘You are a dishonorable cad. We have nothing further to discuss.’
Sweeping about, she’d taken but two steps towards the door when his hand clamped around her elbow, swinging her around and hard up against his chest. With a firm grip on both her upper arms, he glared down at her with what Verity could only feel was anathema.
‘Like it or not, Lady Verity, we at least have to talk about marriage. You poked the beast once too often, which now has unfortunate circumstances for both of us.’
‘You can”t make me marry you. No one can make me,’ she hissed up at him.
‘Spoken like the childish brat you are.’
That accusation didn”t even deserve a response.
There was nothing he could have said to rile her more.
Sinclair was lost in a sea of emotions he had no clue how to navigate. Emotions were something he”d left behind with his youth. But this child-woman, faerie-witch, innocent bloody seductress, or whatever the hell she was, had split that Pandora”s box wide open.
He was left scrabbling and scrambling, desperate to retrench, to stuff all those damned uncomfortable feelings back where they’d been successfully secreted most of his life.
Christ, marriage to this woman could well strip him bare, strip his soul bare, which made him feel as vulnerable as a new-born. He’d buried vulnerability so deep he’d thought it safe from ever being resurrected, but this—this chit, little more than half his age had ripped him apart.
Gutted him. Or so it felt.
Bloody feelings again. If he could only decide what they actually were.
‘You can”t make me marry you,’ she’d said. ‘No one can make me.’
His hand across her bare arse might take care of that, he thought savagely, and with that image in his mind, he felt in control again.
He scowled down at her, his hand itching. With a violent wrench, she tore free of his grip and headed once more for the door. Like the fairy creature she was, she”d slip through his fingers yet.
Lunging, he caught her about the waist and swung her around so the full length of her dainty lusciousness pressed against the wall of his chest. A shift of his hand to her neatly curved backside, and he pulled her roughly into the hardening rod of his desire for her.
Eyes wide open, she stared up at him in defiance, shock, fear.
Wasthat fear he”d glimpsed in those sea-urchin eyes? He eased his grip on her body. His lungs were bellowing as if he”d run several miles and he forced a little more space between their bodies.
Maybe she was as innocent as she seemed and—
You don”t do innocence, Sinner. Remember? The price is too high.
A pity he hadn’t remembered that ten days ago when this madness had first begun.
Walking her backwards to the chair, he nudged her down into it.
‘Please stay,’ he said gruffly, placing his hands on the arms of the chair, caging her in. ‘We have no choice but to face this thing between us. It”s gone too far. Will you stay?’
Her eyes scanned his face and he told himself at least the fear he thought he”d seen had faded. And maybe the shock.
But that defiance glittered back at him like motes of emerald dust. He could drown in her eyes.
Damn, he was so—roasted. When he looked at her all he wanted was to strip every stitch of clothing from her body and possess her, thrust his cock as deep as he could reach inside her, claim her, ruin that pseudo-innocence forever.
If it was pseudo.
And that thought reminded him he would not do any of the depraved things he”d been dreaming of with her because of that possibility of innocence, and yet also for the opposing possibility she could be a clever actress and carrying another man”s child.
His heart told him her innocence was as genuine as it appeared. His head argued he needed to be sure. It was years since he’d paid any attention to his heart, or even acknowledged possession of that organ.
Yet making concession to both head and heart, he finally understood what he had to do.
Her head dropped, and her chest heaved with a sigh of submission, and he stepped back to perch on the edge of his chair.
‘All right,’ he said, with a hawk like focus on her every move. ‘I concede I did most of the pursuing. But you must concede your eyes at least pursued me wherever I was.’
She made no response, just stared down at her hands clasped demurely together in her lap.
‘Verity?’ He thought she’d caught her lips between her teeth, but couldn”t be sure as she wouldn”t look up. Best he didn’t know. Just thinking about it stirred a reaction he didn’t need right now. ‘Can you at least tell me what you meant, when you said, ‘if you are to be my husband, you should know from the outset I don”t respond well to orders’? Why would you say such a thing when we still scarcely knew each other? I had certainly not mentioned marriage.’
Though she didn”t move he had the sensation the silvery curls on top of her head quivered, almost danced in—what?
Agitation? He waited but no answer was forthcoming.
‘You seemed so certain,’ he prodded, ‘as if it had already been decided.’
The dainty ankles uncrossed and recrossed the opposite way. The hands in her lap were suddenly tightly clasped, and he had the sense she was trying hard not to speak. Internally battling with herself. If she had simply been trying to steer him in the direction she’d wanted him to go, he’d force her to say so.
It was the last time the little minx would lead him by the nose, goddammit.
‘Patience is not my long suit, Verity. I will have an answer.’
She shifted restlessly in her chair and her lashes fluttered. She”d almost looked up at him but seemed to have decided against it.
‘The truth,’ he demanded, knowing she struggled with what to say.
‘Very well,’ she said, sitting up straighter and looking directly at him as if she’d come to a decision. ‘I see things. Know things. Always have.’
He was tempted to laugh, to tell her everyone saw and knew things, but something in those aquamarine orbs kept him silent.
She held his gaze for a moment longer.
‘You don”t believe me.’
What the devil was she expecting?
‘I”m not sure what you”re telling me.’
‘I”m psychic. Like my mother. Although Mama is scarily psychic. I”m not like that. It”s why she rarely leaves the Hall, and when she does, Papa never leaves her side. He knows when one of her ‘moments’ is coming on—gets her safely away before she can go fully into trance and predict someone”s imminent and bloody demise. It”s how they met—’
‘I”m not interested in your Mama, Verity. I”m interested in you. Are you telling me you had a vision or something?’
He couldn”t keep the skepticism from his voice, or from his expression, no doubt. Those liquid crystal eyes gauged every nuance of his reaction and clearly found it wanting.
‘That, right there, is why I won’t marry you,’ she said, a note of weary resignation in her voice.
‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you say that?’
Why couldn”t he let her go? Honor was satisfied. He”d offered—well, commanded, if he were being honest, and she”d refused. He could walk away, conscience free.
And yet his limbs were rigid, immovable, and he—was as pussy-whipped as he’d accused Jackson of being.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose to settle the agitation threatening to overtake his body.
‘Explain. Please,’ he tried again.
With another noisy sigh, Verity began again.
‘I see things and know things. I always have. I know when people are lying. You can consider that a warning. Sometimes, I know stuff, like Liberty not being d—’
Stopping abruptly, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were round with horror.
‘Go on,’ he commanded.
She took a moment to settle whatever thought had startled her and picked up her explanation, but she didn”t elaborate on whatever she”d been going to say about her older sister who had died a few years back.
‘No one ever believes me.’
Then she clamped her mouth shut and said no more, sitting with a mulish expression on her face and staring into the fire.
They were never going to get anywhere at this rate.
‘You still haven”t answered my question.’
‘Will you believe me if I tell you?’ she asked, without releasing her gaze from the dancing flames.
Would he? Especially if it was some wild claim to have seen or known something? He rose and threw a couple of logs onto the fire.
‘I don”t know until I hear what you have to say,’ he said, which he thought perfectly reasonable.
She clamped her lips tight.
‘Alright,’ he said, throwing his arms wide. ‘I”ll try. I can”t do better than that.’
The tension in her shoulders eased a little, or had they simply slumped with resignation? At least she sat back as if she would say more.
‘I saw it the day before Jackson and Carly”s wedding. I was working on the flower arrangements in the Great Hall when I had this eerie sensation. If I was a cat, the fur along my neck and back would have stood on end. I looked up, and there you were, standing against the wall beside the door, looking right back at me. I knew who you were, of course, because we had met before. But, it was like that was the first time I”d ever seen you. As I turned back to the flowers, I saw us, standing together, before Vicar Coutts, making our vows to each other. I am never shown anything that doesn”t come to pass.’
If I was a cat the fur along my neck and back would have stood on end.
Bloody hell. He dragged a hand around the back of his neck expecting to find bristles there, then scrabbled both hands through the hair on his head.
‘You feel it too,’ she said, watching him, eyes wide as if she was surprised.
‘I feel nothing,’ he snapped.
‘Lying,’ she said, cocking her head and raising one eyebrow knowingly at him.
Good Lord, he was blushing. The heat burned in his cheeks, but he”d not acknowledge it. He”d focus instead on that mature, knowing expression on that innocent face.
This woman, this dichotomy of naive ingenuousness and jaded minx had him tied in knots, tangled in the rigging as surely as any green ship’s recruit.
Worse, he couldn”t find the will to begin trying to untangle himself. He wanted her, and apparently he’d do whatever he must to tie her to him.
Claim her as his so no other could.
But you will not bed her until you are certain,he reminded himself. He could do that. He”d leave her at Haddon Hall or in his townhouse in London, and he”d hustle the crew to ready the Eloise, and he’d escape to sea.
The Eloise was to be packed with wool, tin and copper for the North European market this trip. They would sail up to Amsterdam and Hamburg and return with lace and woven textiles, Dutch cheeses and salted herring and whatever else they could trade to make a profit.
A month to six weeks should be long enough to see if she swelled with child. With another man”s bastard.
And if she was? He thrust down the cold fury threatening to choke him at the thought. He’d deal with that—when—if—
Damn, he wanted to believe her as innocent as she looked, which only brought him back to the vow he”d made so long ago, not to ruin an innocent.
But you can”t ruin her if she”s your wife.
God damn, that inner voice. Always so bloody logical.
Right now he felt so far from logical he thought he might explode, like a ship”s magazine taking a direct hit from a cannonball.
Find your focus, Sin. You never lose track of yourself to this extent. Find the one thing you can”t change, can”t turn your back on, can”t deny.
And that was, that in the eyes of society he”d already ruined Lady Verity Davencourt and therefore was honor-bound to marry her. Somehow the rest would play out as it had to.
A proper proposal was called for. On his knee with a ring and flowers. Awareness of his surroundings returned, and he found himself pacing about the confines of the library, with Verity still watching him with that wary expression that said she was waiting for him to mock her, ridicule her, decry her naiveté and immaturity for believing in fantasies she made up in her head.
He wanted to accuse her of all those things too, but the words wouldn”t pass his lips. Having come to a halt in his pacing, by a vase of winter roses, he plucked one from the arrangement and returned to where she sat, her eyes widening as he stood in front of her and dropped to one knee.
The signet ring on his little finger would have to do in the interim.
‘Lady Verity Davencourt, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?’
The phenomenon of Sinner Wolfenden on his knees before her, holding out a blush-edged, pale green winter rose he’d purloined from an arrangement on a table in the room, was one Verity knew she’d always cherish.
But with all that had gone before, her first inclination was to laugh. Judging by the serious, almost stern expression on his handsome face as he waited for her answer, her levity might not be taken well.
Nevertheless, if he thought she would simper, quiver and acquiesce because of what she”d ‘seen’ and ‘knew’, he understood her not at all. On present evidence, they would make an appalling mess of marriage.
She knew what she ought to say, what he and Gabe and Lucy and Lady Susanna all expected her to say. What the whole of society would expect her to say if their scandalous tryst in the minstrels’ gallery became common knowledge.
But she couldn”t bring herself to respond as expected—or to say anything at all.
Dark brows came together in a thunderous line above stormy eyes, and Sin pushed to his feet.
‘One word, Verity. That”s all that is required,’ he ground out between gritted teeth. ‘Do you understand? What I”m asking? What I”m offering? I might not have a title, but I am a very wealthy man.’
‘I don”t care about your money.’
‘So, just say it, dammit, so we can—’
He stomped back and forth before the fireplace, dragging his free hand through his hair.
‘So we can what?’
‘Verity.’ he all but snarled. ‘This is not a game. What the devil is your answer?’
‘No. Thank you. I do understand the honor you wish to bestow upon me. But. No. I don”t believe we”d suit.’
A deep satisfaction flared through Verity as she watched his jaw sag and his eyes pop with astonishment.
‘You said you”d ‘seen’ it. ‘Knew’ it,’ he growled, leaning towards her as if he”d like to shake her.
‘I did. But something you should understand about such foresights is they can be in the nature of a forewarning. Thus one has the option of following the path disclosed—or not. We always have a choice.’
With a snarl of frustrated disgust, Sinclair tossed the rose towards the fire.
‘In this situation, Lady Sweet and Reasonable, you do not have a choice, unless you wish to be shunned by society.’
He’d hardly uttered three words of that terse speech before Verity was out of her chair and snatching up the rose from where it had landed at the edge of the ash bed.
‘No need to take your temper out on an innocent flower,’ she cried, pinching the edge of a petal that had begun to smolder.
‘Say yes, dammit.’
‘No,’ she said softly, and settled back in her chair.
He came for her then, and for a moment of stark fear she thought he might be about to wring her neck or shake her until her head fell off. His big hands grasped her upper arms and hauled her bodily out of the chair to slam against the ungiving wall of his chest. Their eyes clashed in a brief moment, like the first flash of lightning heralding the storm.
Then his head blocked out the light and his mouth took hers in an unleashing of thunderous portent. Not teasing as had been their first kiss at the piano, or desperate as that they’d shared in the gallery.
This kiss claimed, consumed, combusted.
Sinner’s scent—plain soap, a hint of sandalwood and man—engulfed her and Verity dissolved into it. Melted into the heat and possession of his mouth. Molded into the whipcord hard planes of his body.
Moaned in utter surrender. His tongue demanded entry to her mouth and helplessly she opened for him, head dropping back as her body sagged into his.
Leaving a trail of molten fire in its wake, his mouth trailed down the sensitive skin of her throat, licking, nibbling, tasting. And while his mouth incited and stole her every last speck of sanity, his hand had found the edge of her bodice and tugged it down.
Yes. God yes. Please.
The words were a litany in her head, but all she could voice were moans and mewls.
A wild cry of need escaped her as he released her breast and lifted his head to appreciate his prize.
Verity strained up on her toes, desperate for the return of his marauding lips. With an involuntary groan of his own, Sinclair dropped his head and engulfed her breast in his mouth. He suckled, hard, and Verity sagged bonelessly into the strength of his arms and whimpered.
‘Oh Sinner, please.’
He didn”t disappoint, lifting out her other breast and offering it the same devastating homage.
‘You have—the most—exquisite breasts—I”ve ever seen,’ he rasped against her burning flesh, and flicked his tongue back and forth across her tightly budded nipple until she was babbling and begging incoherently.
‘Say yes,’ he commanded.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she shouted, trying to drag his head back when he immediately lifted it.
Cold air teased her wet nipples, and she suddenly found herself summarily set back in her chair.
He still held her hand, though, and while she had not yet recovered her senses, he bent low and placed a passionate kiss in her palm.
Closing her fingers over the kiss, he said, ‘Thank you, Verity, for honoring my proposal with your acceptance. Now perhaps we should go and share our happy news with our families and friends.’
Verity’s passion-induced fog cleared abruptly.
‘I never—,’she began.
‘Yeah, you did,’ he drawled. ‘Yes yes yes, you shouted loud enough we probably won”t even need to make the announcement.’
‘You—you”re a beast, Sinner Wolfenden.’
‘Mmm. You do seem to bring that out in me.’
She did. And he in her apparently.