Illusion of Innocence: Regency Rebelles Series

Chapter 15

It was nigh on dark when they returned to the ship, Verity carrying four precious tulip blooms grown out of season indoors. Her husband had not blinked at the exorbitant price the vendor had demanded for them.

Even more gratifying was the thought of the barrel full of bulbs one of the men was hauling up onto the ship behind them. It was filled with packages of a multitude of different colors. He”d asked her what she wanted, and she’d stared wide-eyed at the hand-written descriptions of each flower.

‘Oh my. How to choose when they all sound so beautiful,’ she”d murmured, starting to study the notes more carefully with a view to deciding what she could bear to leave behind.

‘That”s easy then,’ Sin said, immediately turning to the merchant. ‘We’ll take a thousand bulbs of each color. Now let”s deal.’

While Verity struggled to catch her breath and settle her racing heart, he”d bargained the merchant down to less than half the price at which they began negotiations. Plus, a copy of the set of notes.

Verity knew better than to interrupt a man during a serious business transaction, but almost exploded once they”d returned to the hack he”d hired before they left the dock.

‘Where to?’ the man had asked, and while Sin’s reply delighted her, she”d scarcely taken it in.

‘Give us a tour of the best parts of the city but have us back at the dock before dark.’

Handing her into the carriage, he waited until she settled then leapt in to sit beside her, completely ignoring the empty seat opposite. He rapped his cane on the roof and the carriage moved off.

Sin’s hard muscled thigh pressed firmly against hers and he put his arm along the back of the seat behind her head. It was scandalous—well, not really when he was her husband, but—and a thousand of every color of tulip? Her mind was completely distracted in several directions at once.

‘Sin, what am I to do with that many tulips? It’s ridiculous. Where would I plant them? I was thinking maybe a dozen each of the best colors, but—a thousand of every color?’

The hand behind her head suddenly closed over her shoulder and the other pulled the ribbon of her bonnet and then tossed the confection onto the opposite seat.

‘We’ll sell what you don’t want. Now—the only way to silence a complaining woman is to kiss her,’ he muttered, tipped her chin with his free hand and turned her head so he could suit action to words.

As always happened when he kissed her, all coherency fled her mind and all she could focus on was the demanding heat of his mouth, the possessive grip of his hands on her body, and the all-enveloping scent of him she”d recognize anywhere. A deeply masculine blend of sea-pine and exotic spices melded with the fiery scent of storm across the ocean wave.

A scent so redolent of the man himself, it stole her ability to function, deny him, or protect herself.

His mouth—caressing, inciting, demanding.

His hands—strong, sure, arousing.

There was a part of her that wanted all of it, everything he offered, the dream she”d once held of the supreme ecstasy to be found in the arms of a man.

The right man.

The moment his hand slipped down over her knee and began easing her gown up past her ankles, Verity froze.

‘No,’ she whispered. Then louder. ‘G—get off me.’

Sin immediately smoothed her gown over her knees and settled back against the seat. He didn”t remove his arm from her shoulders, however.

‘Sorry sweetheart, but you are more temptation than I can stand, at times. You make me forget the purpose of this carriage ride is for you to see the city of Amsterdam.’

Gently rubbing at her shoulder, he urged her forward in the seat the better to view the streets they were driving through.

It wasn”t long before Verity forgot the weight of his arm on her shoulder in the wonder of the sights and different architecture of this lowland city.

‘Some of the houses look like doll’s houses, they are so intricate. Oh, is—is there a museum here?’

‘I imagine so. Why do you ask?’

‘They might have a doll’s house.’

‘A doll’s house?’ Her husband almost spluttered and Verity turned to regard him with amusement.

‘Not a child”s toy as you are thinking. Uncle Charles Davencourt, who lives at Larkhurst Manor, the neighboring estate at home, has one taller than me. It looks like a beautiful mahogany cabinet until you open the doors. The inside is arranged in rooms like a proper house with staircases, miniature furniture and people and the tiniest perfect utensils, crockery and pots and—everything. Apparently, his wife inherited it from her Dutch grandmother, and he said they had a really exquisite one in a museum somewhere in the Netherlands. Could it be here?’

Verity felt her heart swell with the wicked excitement she’d known as a child, slipping away with Hugh, her beloved big brother, to visit the forbidden delights housed within the exquisitely bright and modern Larkhurst Manor. It was like walking into warm welcoming sunlight after escaping from the ancient, dark, gloominess of Stannesford Hall.

But the greatest treasure at Larkhurst in Verity’s view was the doll’s house and Uncle Charles had indulged her shamelessly, allowing her to even gently rearrange the furniture and the miniature residents once she”d proved she could be extremely careful and delicate.

He seemed to derive as much pleasure from watching her wide-eyed delight as she did from the exquisite perfection of every tiny detail.

She’d had so many questions and he”d patiently answered all he could, and she suspected, made up stories of his own to satisfy those questions he actually couldn”t answer.

He was a hearty, gruff old man who”d always shown unfailing delight whenever she and Hugh turned up. As a child, all she knew was, their visiting Larkhurst was a delicious secret she shared with her big brother and she readily agreed to keep it from the rest of the family. Especially, Papa and Mama.

Uncle Charles never visited Stannesford Hall and as far as she knew, her parents had never visited Larkhurst. Hugh’s averral they’d not be allowed to visit if their parents knew, was enough to ensure Verity kept the secret close. Not that they”d gone often, but every visit had been memorable for the time she’d been allowed to spend with the doll’s house.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Sin asked, and she brought herself back to her surroundings, the carriage jostling them through streets bordered by canals, other rattling conveyances and the strange guttural accents of drivers and street sellers hawking their wares.

And Sin’s arm about her shoulders, heavy, warm and sheltering.

‘Uncle Charles. He was like a delightful sort of grandfather figure to Hugh and me. And yet on the odd occasions we saw him in the village Mama—and Papa—would pretend not to see him at all and then Mama would warn us never to have anything to do with him for he was a bad man.’

‘And being the spoilt little madam you were, you did not believe those strictures applied to you?’

Her husband was observing her with a wry grin and one raised eyebrow, his grey eyes dancing with a teasing light.

Way too entrancing.

Verity tilted her chin and turned her gaze to the window on her side of the carriage, and the tall buildings with the delicate brickwork facades like chunky lace.

‘I only ever went with Hugh. He liked to talk with Uncle Charles about the foreign places he”d been and asked endless questions about the strange artifacts he”d collected. Like the skull of a monkey that looked like it could have been a human child. A blow pipe that he said was used to shoot poisoned darts. Horrible things really, but Hugh loved it.’

‘Where is Hugh now?’

That question leached all the pleasure out of Verity’s day and the memory of the doll’s house. She”d been trying not to think about Hugh—now. Or the part she knew Uncle Charles had played in Hugh’s life choices.

She slumped back against the seat and Sin tightened his arm.

‘You would prefer I hadn”t asked that question, I think?’ And he pulled her closer against his body.

Verity didn”t fight it. The warmth and comfort of his masculine strength eased a little of the ache in her heart for her brother.

‘Uncle Charles bought him a commission when Grayson Adderley got sent away to the Horse Guards. Hugh and Gray have been inseparable all their lives. There”s only a month between them and they”re much like twins. Where one is you will usually find the other. Poor Gray, whose father is Lord William Adderley, Earl of Highbrooke, wanted to marry Rose Marie Longfellow, the miller”s daughter. They ran away to Gretna Green, but were brought back by Lord Highbrooke. Rose Marie was ruined of course, and Gray was commissioned into the Horse Guards. Hugh demanded to be able to go with him. Papa refused to buy a commission for him, because he”s his only son and heir. But like I said, where Gray goes, Hugh goes, and vice versa. So, he went to Uncle Charles, and got his commission into the Guards with Gray. It seemed like they’d barely had time to get outfitted and they were off to join Wellington”s forces in time to fight at Waterloo. All we really know is Hugh was injured and Gray saved his life. I don”t know when we are likely to see either of them again. Gray refuses to come home because he is still so angry and where—’

‘—Gray goes, Hugh goes,’ Sin finished for her. ‘Big brothers are the devil to love—and hero-worship,’ he added thoughtfully, and Verity couldn”t help wondering what Lord Pennington had done to elicit that heartfelt comment from his younger brother. ‘And now to cheer us up again, I believe there is a big museum here in Amsterdam, the Rijksmuseum. We can visit it tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Truly?’ Verity sat up and searched her husband”s face. He was very accommodating. Did he have an ulterior motive? ‘It won”t—make any difference—to—,’ she began, but he stopped her stumbling words with a sudden light kiss to the end of her nose. Almost instinctively her finger came up to rest on the spot his lips had touched.

It had been the merest brush, as of a butterfly wing and yet it felt like a brand.

‘Very, this has nothing to do with whether you will let me show you the true pleasure of making love or not. It”s about us getting to know one another, learning about one another. We are wed, for better or for worse, and though I sincerely hope for so much more, at the least I wish for us to be friends.’

Still searching her husband”s serious gaze, Verity decided ‘cynical Sinner’ was a well-crafted facade her husband wore to guard his softer, inner core; to protect his more vulnerable self.

Before she could comment on anything he”d said however, the carriage came to a halt and the cabbie called out they were back at the docks and the discussion was lost in the business of climbing back aboard the Princess Eloise and returning to the cabin.

‘Did you really mean it?’ Verity asked, looking back at her husband. ‘That we could visit the museum tomorrow?’

‘That”s something you need to learn about me, my love,’ he told her, with a dip of his head towards her. ‘I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.’

Leaning past her, he opened the door into the cabin. Something in his eyes mesmerized her, some light of anticipation or excitement. Now what was he about?

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her into the doorway.

And then she understood. Gone was the cabin and in its place a fairy grotto with a host of candles on the table and in the sconces on the walls. The map table had been covered in a snowy white damask cloth and was set for two.

Not with tin plates but proper china, silver cutlery and stemmed goblets. A bottle of red wine was opened and breathing in the center of the table.

The crowning touch was the damask tablecloths artistically draped over the two chairs and tied back with hanks of rope with the ends frayed to resemble tassels.

Ship-like, but perfect.

‘What is this?’ Verity asked, turning to look back at her husband.

‘This is to show you shipboard life is not all about tin plates and dining with uncouth sailors, or that marriage can”t be about—romance.’

With that astonishing statement, he kissed her startled mouth and ushered her into the cabin. As soon as she’d removed her bonnet and pelisse, he pulled out one of the chairs with the casual aplomb of a well-trained footman and settled her at the table.

So many facets to this man she”d married.

What Verity had taken to be another squat, opened bottle of wine turned out to be waiting for the four beautiful tulips she still carried in her hand. Sin relieved her of them and slid them into the neck of the bottle.

‘Beautiful, as are you, my love.’

Confusion filled her breast and heat flooded her cheeks. He kept saying things to make her blush, things she imagined a man of Sinclair Wolfenden’s caliber would never utter. And he’d begun calling her ‘my love’. Not knowing how to respond, she decided it was best ignored.

Sin had no sooner settled in his chair than a knock on the door preceded the entrance of Mr. Jay carrying an elegant porcelain soup tureen on a silver tray.

‘Good evening, m’lady, Mr. Sin. I trust everything is to your satisfaction?’

‘Absolutely, Jay, thank you,’ Sin said. ‘What have you got for us? It smells delicious.’

‘Bisque aux huitres avec croutons.’

There was a funny little smirk on the chef’s face, and he winked at Sin.

‘Oysters. My favorite,’ Sin declared, a matching smirk lifting one corner of his mouth.

‘Thank you, Mr Jay,’ Verity said quickly, determined not be out done by these two and whatever secret male language they were conversing in. ‘Cream of oyster soup is also a favorite of mine.’

Mr. Jay bowed with the gravity of a ma?tre d and said, ‘Enjoy, m’lady.’

His idea of an intimate candlelit dinner was so he could romance his wife. The opposite had proved to be true. Not only was she romancing him, but she was also seducing him without even trying.

Tiny whorls of silvery blonde hair had escaped the braids and pins she”d used to confine them and shimmered like tendrils of shimmering fire in the candlelight.

A faerie goddess with a crown of flaming silver.

Candlelight danced in the aquamarine depths of her eyes as she talked of her day and her anticipation of finding a doll”s house at the Rijksmuseum on the morrow.

But it was her mouth that had truly done him in. Verity was pleased with her day and happy. And it seemed when his wife was happy, she chatted with animation. Her mouth, so mobile and articulate, was art in motion and he frequently lost the gist of the conversation in his contemplation of it.

And then she began eating. Small delicate sips of the oyster bisque at first, and then more enthusiastic mouthfuls as the flavor hit her taste buds. No one understood flavor and how to enhance it as Mr. Jay did. Sin scarcely remembered to consume his own bowl of delicious broth, so focused was he on watching the smooth creamy, aphrodisiacal soup slide past those lips.

And whether there was any truth to the potency properties of oysters likely didn”t matter. He was way beyond needing any other stimulus than watching his wife”s plump, bow-shaped lips eat, and form words. It was as potent for him as any aphrodisiac known to man.

But did such erotic stimulants work for women as they supposedly did for men? For really, the point of this perfectly arranged scene was to entice the woman into his arms, to convince her to want him as he wanted her.

He”d never had to be this damned patient before. Nor had to make amends for—gross ineptitude.

‘Thank you, Mr Jay, that was divine,’ Verity informed the chef, whose re-entry into the cabin had scarcely impinged on Sin’s internal monologue.

And then Jay was looking at him as if he also should have the presence of mind to say something. God damn, he was becoming a mooncalf.

‘Divine, as the lady says, Jay. It definitely hit the spot.’

The bloody chef’s grin then could be called salacious and Sin decided his best strategy would be to ignore the man.

Setting two covered dishes and a jug of gravy on the table the man gestured at them with his big tattooed hands.

‘Slow baked brisket, creamed neeps an’ gravy à la Jay. Yer won” taste better anywheres.’

Then taking up their soup bowls and the tureen, he backed out the door with an elaborate bow.

‘Ready for this?’ Sin asked, as he lifted the cover off the meat from which a delicious herby aroma rose. He placed a succulent slice on Verity’s plate. ‘More?’

‘No. I think that will be enough,’ she said, ‘although I am beginning to realize Mr Jay teases one with piquant flavors that tempt you to keep coming back for more.’

‘He does,’ Sin agreed, his gaze coming to rest on her mouth once more.

A bit like someone else I know. Something snapped inside him and though he knew he shouldn”t, he didn”t seem able to stop himself.

‘Like one taste of you was never enough and I have to keep coming back for more.’

Dropping the cover back on the meat, he leaned across the corner of the table, caught her cheeks between his hands and finally tasted the mouth that had been calling to him from the moment they’d sat down at table.

‘You,’ he whispered against her lips, teasing them open with his tongue and surging within to devour the nectar at the center of this exquisite bloom that was his wife, ‘are mine.’.

His.

Damn, yes.

God, he wanted—but he would not take.

Yes, he wanted, but he wanted her willing. Preferably begging.

‘Sin—your kisses—make me forget things,’ she murmured, her eyes locked with his as she pulled back, troubled and a little wary.

‘You make me forget things as well,’ he responded softly, ‘and it looks like we are both in danger of forgetting this excellent dinner Jay has created for us. Creamed neeps? One spoonful or two?’ he asked, his voice growing husky with need.

‘Two,’ she answered, and sat back in her chair with a deep inhalation, as if she needed air to settle something disturbed within her.

Hopefully something he”d disturbed.

He”d never remember what they discussed over the main course, or be able to offer any idea as to what Jay had used to season the gravy to make simple brisket and neeps an epicurean delight.

He could only remember the elegant dance of Verity”s hands as she talked, the soft, husky cadence of her voice and the way the tiny, reflected candle flames shimmered in her eyes and hair.

The movement of her throat as she swallowed and the rise and fall of her breasts with her breath.

The exquisite, torturous pain of his arousal.

He”d have been better off without the damned bisque aux huitres.

When Mr Jay brought the final course and cleared their dinner plates away, Sin could hardly wait for him to leave.

‘Compotée d”abricots à la crème vanille,’ the chef intoned sonorously as he set the bowls before them. ‘Will there be anythin’ else, sir? M’lady?’

‘Thank you, Jay. You have exceeded all my expectations, as always,’ Sin answered for both of them. ‘We will leave this tray outside the door when we are done.’

‘As yer will, sir. Enjoy th’ rest o’ yer evenin’.’

The door closed softly behind him as if the man was making a point or dropping a hint. With Jay anything was possible, but Sin had not another thought to spare for the enigmatic chef who spoke English like a guttersnipe and French like an aristocrat, at least the French names for the ambrosial dishes he created.

Then Verity lifted a spoon of apricots and cream to her mouth and all but swooned, her groan of appreciation vibrating through Sin and right to the root of his cock.

Exquisite torture was nothing to the rabid need clawing at his balls now. There was no way he could suppress a groan of his own and quickly raised a spoon of dessert to his lips to give a reason for it.

God damn, he wished they weren”t on this bloody ship. He had no doubt he could seduce her to the point she”d mindlessly beg him to take her, show her everything he”d failed so miserably to deliver that first night in this cabin. But he was bloody determined, when he finally brought her to the precipice, the edge from which there was no going back, she”d be begging helplessly and screaming his name in the euphoria of her release.

And he had no intention of sharing that deeply anticipated moment with the whole bloody ship.

No, these last few days in port, and however long it took them to return to London, would be the longest, most painful, self-imposed purgatory of his life.

Focus on the goal—he and his wife alone in their own rooms in their own house and then—

And then, wolfish Sinner Wolfenden had better deliver the best damned seduction of his life.

A seduction that would feel, to his beautiful wife, like a surrender and an offering all at once.

Every sound she made, from a whispered gasp to a helpless orgasmic scream, would be for his ears only.

He just had to survive long enough for the dream to become reality.

Her husband had risen at first light.

Verity woke with his first movement and descent from the bunk above. Cracking open one eye she watched him light a candle and stretch his semi-naked body, every muscle rippling and tempting.

As if he had an intuitive sense of when his master would arise, Saju entered with a bucket of hot water and fresh towels for him.

Verity remained still. She didn”t wish to remind either of them of her presence or alert them to her intention to spy.

Wearing only his buckskin trousers, Sinclair sat while Saju worked a wicked looking razor over his face then blotted him dry. Her husband was a beautifully built man, which was really what had got them into this coil in the first place.

Her wicked desire to watch the men at their sport and having discovered Sin without his shirt, she”d been tempted beyond discretion and he’d discovered her. Turned out he was no less tempted by her.

Watching the candle-fire highlight the muscled planes and ridges of his torso as he pulled on his shirt made her body heat and her legs twist restlessly beneath the blanket. Her woman”s core, that he”d violated so painfully a few nights before, felt empty and wanting.

Surely, she didn”t want to try that with him again. Did she?

Once he stood in his boots and with his jacket fitted snug about his shoulders, Sin dismissed the valet with the request he bring a fresh bucket of water for his wife in about an hour.

‘Good morning, wife,’ he said the moment the door closed, and with a warmth in his voice she”d not heard before. ‘Now you know the secrets of a man”s morning rituals.’

‘I kept my eyes closed,’ she said indignantly.

Her husband laughed at her. As if he didn”t believe her.

‘Liar,’ he said softly, ducking his head under the bunks, removing the blanket from her grasp under her chin, and kissing her full on the mouth. ‘A man enjoys knowing his woman appreciates his—person in the undressed state.’

His fingers speared into her hair, creating a possessive frame about her head, holding her for his pleasure. And she was content to have it so, although she badly wanted to hide her hot face from him.

Sin’s kisses were—simply—sinful, sensual and seductive.

When she thought he might deepen the kiss, and her hands were struggling from beneath the blanket to hold him to her, he lifted away. Released her.

Stood looking down at her with a strange expression on his face she couldn”t read in the gloom under the bunk.

‘Nik and I have more business ashore. I intend to be back for lunch and then we can go and find the Rijksmuseum. Does that please you?’

‘But—if you are gone how will I lace my corset—and gown?’

He considered her for a long moment and gave her an exasperated smile.

‘This would all have been so much simpler if you had stayed in St James”s Square waiting for me to return from this trip. Wouldn”t it?’

Verity stared up at him unblinkingly. It probably would, but she”d not give him the satisfaction of agreeing.

After a beat of time and a deep sigh of frustration, he said, ‘I will speak with Saju. He will do as I ask, but I doubt he will be happy being forced to play lady’s maid.’

Which was the understatement of the century.

About an hour later there was a hard brief knock on the door followed by the surly tones of the valet.

‘Saju here, my lady.’

‘Come in, Saju.’

Face black with displeasure, the little valet poured the water into the same tin basin Sin had used earlier.

‘Mr. Sin said you may require some assistance dressing, my lady. You should know I am not—’

‘Of course, I know you are not a lady’s maid, Saju, and I deeply apologize for the necessity. It is only the strings of my corset and the closures down the back of my gown. If you would come back in half an hour, I should be dressed so all you need to do is tie the corset strings and close the gown over it.’

The valet dropped his gaze to the floor and Verity imagined he might be blushing, but it was difficult to tell with the dark hue of his skin.

‘Normally, my husband would do it for me, but he had early business this morning with Captain Nik, and I do not wish to lay abed until he returns. I could be much better occupied. Mr. Jay is always glad of extra hands in the galley.’

The man”s gloomy expression did not lighten and suddenly Verity knew what she had to do.

‘I”m certain I saw the ingredients for a curry in Mr. Jay”s spice box. Do you like a good hot curry, Saju?’

The turbaned head jerked up and the black eyes gleamed with a dark sharpness at the hint of a bargain.

‘I do, my lady. Mr. Jay occasionally makes it for Raji and me, but not often.’

‘Then, to thank you for serving me in this way, you shall have a good hot curry for lunch today. Do we have a bargain?’

‘We do, my lady,’ and the little man bowed from the waist, his turban almost touching the floor.

Verity smiled as he left, his posture considerably jauntier than when he’d arrived. She”d always found most people had some chink in their armor that predisposed them to persuasion.

Thus, when her husband returned for her he found her sitting at the long table in the galley with Saju and Raji. They were all three enjoying bowls of rice topped with an aromatic meaty pottage and Saju was in the middle of an animated description of the Taj Mahal, an exquisite tomb in the northern Indian city of Agra, built by an emperor for his favorite wife.

‘Favorite wife? He had more than one?’

The shocked words had flown out of Verity’s mouth before she could contain them.

‘That is the way in India—is it not, Mr. Sin?’

A large, warm hand landed on Verity’s shoulder and her husband spoke from just behind her.

‘Indeed, it is, Saju. But never fear, my beautiful wife. In England a man may only have one wife so that one must, perforce, be his favorite.’

‘Ha,’ Verity began, bristling at the knowledge English gentlemen happily circumvented the law by taking a mistress—or two, as they fancied.

But Sin’s hand, heavy on her shoulder, stayed the rabid thought. Hard on the cusp of that agitation came another thought.

Her husband could—and likely would—take a mistress if she didn”t allow him into her bed.

The man in question swung his leg over the long stool and sat down with his thigh snugly aligned with her own. All thought fled her mind, and she could only concentrate on the warmth, the proximity, the casual hubris of the man with regards to her person.

And her own ambivalence to it. There was plenty of room on the stool to her other side, but she did not move to put space between them.

‘I”m impressed, Verity my love,’ he said, appropriating her fork and stealing a mouthful of the rice along with the spicy accompaniment. ‘Oh damn,’ he muttered as he swallowed. ‘I”m impressed with this too.’

Verity turned in his direction.

‘Really?’ she asked, unable to keep skepticism from her voice. ‘And what was the first thing that impressed you?’

‘My—somewhat—misogynistic valet happily regaling you with tales of his beloved India.’

‘Misogynistic? Mr. Sin, you go too far. It is simply that—what you demanded of me this morning—is not what a gentleman”s gentleman expects. It is not proper.’

Sin grinned at the man”s indignant expression.

‘So what changed your mind?’ he asked slyly.

The little man”s expression changed to one of dignified hauteur and Verity had to suppress the desire to giggle.

‘The lady herself, Mr. Sin. She was very understanding of my sensibilities in the matter and–’

‘And?’ Sin prodded.

It was Saju’s turn to offer Sin a sly grin.

‘You were impressed yourself with the other reason.’

‘The curry?’

Her husband frowned down at Verity’s bowl and then his brows cleared as understanding dawned.

‘You made the curry for Saju and Raji?’

‘I did,’ she agreed.

‘And very good it is too, Mr. Sin,’ Raji offered, forking up the last morsels from his bowl.

Sin sat back a little to stare at his wife, then turned to the two almost identical turban-topped faces watching him.

‘Well, gentlemen, you can congratulate me, for I have wed a paragon, through no amount of cleverness on my part. She is a lady and as such is beautiful and mannered, an asset on a man”s arm in any social situation. Not only that, she is—resourceful, challenging, and she can cook—a rather unusual talent for a gently bred woman—and she has the gift of creating blissful harmony in my household. I am blessed indeed. Even more so, if there is any of this curry left?’ he finished, indicating Verity”s half-eaten lunch.

‘There is. I will bring you a bowl,’ Verity said, rising to do so.

Placing the bowl in front of Sin, she sat before her own plate again and quickly consumed her own serving. Sin was now talking with the two valets of their plans for the afternoon, but her mind was on the fickle meanderings of her own thoughts and—feelings.

When she’d thought of her husband with a mistress she felt as if she wanted to berate him like an ill-tempered shrew, yet barely a minute later she was racing to set a meal before him like the most devoted and domesticated of wives.

If she was as adult as she”d decided she was, shouldn”t she know her own mind?

You do know you couldn”t bear it if he took a mistress.

You also know what you need to do to prevent that.

But she still had—reservations—about doing that with him again.

‘Are you ready to go and see if the Rijksmuseum does indeed have a doll’s house among its treasures?’

Thrusting the uncomfortable thoughts aside, Verity gave her husband a smile.

‘I am.’

To her confusion he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

They found the doll’s house—and his wife was enthralled. It totally eclipsed the romantic and picturesque boat ride through the ring system of canals comprising the oldest part of the city, or the brilliance of the flower market.

He doubted she even had a thought to spare for other ancient and exotic treasures within the museum, brought from all corners of the widespread Dutch Empire.

The doll”s house created by the wife of a wealthy 17th century silk merchant was stupendous in her eyes. Even Sin had to concede the cabinet itself was a thing of exquisite beauty, being crafted entirely from tortoiseshell inlaid with pewter. The piece was taller than him, with three storeys and three rooms at each level.

‘Oh Sinclair, I—I could not have imagined—oh, please, leave me here. Go and explore, anything, but please leave me here—for an hour—or two. I was totally charmed with Uncle Charles”s house, but this—this makes his look almost—ordinary.’

Verity stood before the display case with her hands clasped beneath her chin, reticule hanging from her elbow, and her bonnet fairly quivering with excitement.

Then she turned her gaze on him, and it was as if all the stars of the heavens had fallen into her eyes. They shone, so luminous Sin was blinded. He reached out and touched her to ground himself, to ground her, for the possibility either of them could float away into the ethers on the magical energy of her delight felt too real.

‘Can you—?’ she cast a hurried glance about the huge room, ‘bring me that chair from over there by the wall, please? I want to make drawings. It is so—perfect, and no one will believe me if I tell them about it.’

As he hurried to do her bidding, Sin wondered what it was she did to him. It was likely, if she”d asked him to kneel and impersonate a stool for her comfort, he”d have done it.

With the chair in place before the doll’s house, she sat with sketch pad and pencil in hand and asked him to estimate the dimensions of the cabinet. When she had noted those down, she looked up at him over her shoulder.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes bright and shiny with her delight. ‘Now, shoo! I know you cannot be enthralled with this as I am, so you need to go and find some—manly exhibits, like—like ancient weapons and the grisly remains of prehistoric beasts. I promise I will be right here when you get back.’

He looked about the vast hall. There were several other groups of people wandering through, family groups, couples, a gaggle of women in elegant gowns and elaborate bonnets.

And there was a museum guard standing in the archway leading into yet another vast exhibition hall. He would ask the man to keep an eye on his wife and with that comfortable thought, he left her and wandered off to investigate what else the museum might have to offer.

Time had ceased to exist, and Verity looked up with surprise when Sin returned to her side to stand looking down at her sketchbook. She was putting the finishing details to the last room.

‘Wait please. Just one more moment.’

Quickly she finished sketching the details of the drapes and wall decorations of the last room on the third storey, then flipped back through the pages to show him the rest of her drawings.

‘That”s quite a talent you have, love. What will you do with those drawings now? Create your own doll’s house?’

Verity looked back at the intriguing manifestation of one woman”s dream, and then slowly shook her head.

‘Apparently, the money she spent on it could have bought a real house, right here in Amsterdam. It would be a frivolous use of wealth. Do you not think?’

Sin let his gaze rest on her thoughtfully. Spoilt youngest Davencourt she might be, but it had not made her mercenary.

‘That depends on how passionate you are about the project.’

‘Not that passionate,’ she laughed. ‘Although, Uncle Charles did say once he was going to leave his one to me in his will.’

‘Does he have no daughters?’

‘He has two—top-lofty matriarchs of the ton. Apparently neither cared for the doll’s house, nor did their mother even though she inherited it from her grandmother. They would probably destroy it. Strip it and turn it into a display cabinet for hideously expensive and deplorably ugly pieces of porcelain or something. Total sacrilege.’

With a last scrutiny of her sketch, she rose from her chair with a happy sigh, stowed her sketchpad and pencil in her reticule and slipped her hand through his arm.

But instead of allowing him to lead her out of the museum, she tugged on his hand, so he stopped and looked down at her.

Eyes now dancing as if those stars, he”d noted earlier had fallen into a crystalline ocean, she rose on tiptoes and pressed her warm, pliant lips to his.

‘Thank you for bringing me here.’

His metamorphosis into whatever weak-kneed sap he’d become, was complete. The moment his wife willingly placed her mouth on his, he was caught in the web of her excitement.

He all but danced her through the lofty halls, past silent watching displays of mediaeval and tropical life, extinct animals and a mock-up of a quaint village with huts made of grass until they reached the wide cobbled street between the museum and the canal.

Once there he swung her around in an exuberant arc is if they danced the waltz in an elegant ballroom.

Sin had never felt so buoyant, carefree, positive and hopeful in his life. As if discovering the youth he”d skipped over, having gone straight from childhood to cynicism with little in between.

If Nik could see him now he’d bellow with laughter.

Sobering a little with the thought, he began to slow their crazy whirling when Verity stumbled, slipped through his arms and began tumbling towards the busy roadway.

A plain black coach was rattling towards them and if she went under the wheels she could well be killed.

Sin dived, caught the stuff of her pelisse and jerked her back and away from certain death. Aware she was going to land on her backside and likely sustain some substantial bruising, he was helpless to stop her momentum as he overbalanced, his shoulder clipping the carriage wheel as the vehicle clattered by.

This was not going to end w—