The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation (Sins & Sensibilities #5)
Chapter 1
“I do not jest, sir, nor can I conceive why you persist in believing I do. I am well aware it is unseemly to call upon his lordship at such an indecent hour, but necessity has left us no choice. Pray allow us entry before this ghastly downpour finishes what the journey began.”
Sebastian lifted a brow, slid his gloves into a pocket, and moved down the long hallway toward the commotion.
Four ladies stood upon the front step of his townhouse, clutching valises so worn they might have weathered a dozen journeys.
Their likeness was unmistakable; he concluded at once they were sisters or perhaps cousins.
Rain fell in earnest, darkening their pelisses and dragging their hems wet and heavy, while water beaded upon their bonnets and slipped from the brims in steady threads.
Three of the girls wore anxious, hopeful expressions.
The fourth, clearly both their leader and the eldest, looked prepared to lay siege by force of will alone, her gloved hand tightening on her valise as she leveled a glare at his butler.
Still, despite the frown marring her brow, her remarkable prettiness sent an unexpected awareness whispering through Sebastian’s senses.
Who in blazes were they, and why had they chosen his door for such a nonsensical display?
“I will not repeat—”
“For the third time, pray inform his lordship that I have urgent business with him and entreat an audience without delay,” she said, jutting her chin.
“You do not entreat. You demand,” Gerald returned, puffed up like a pompous old pigeon. “I have already informed you that his lordship is not at home to callers. Thrice, I believe! You may leave your card, though I rather doubt a lady such as yourself possesses one.”
Sebastian could all but feel the disdain dripping from the man.
“We are the earl’s family,” she said, narrowing her gaze, “and I cannot imagine his lordship will look kindly upon the contempt with which you have received us. If our presence so offends you, permit us to use the servants’ entrance and await him in the kitchens.
It is a reasonable compromise, sir, particularly as we are not leaving. ”
Gerald sputtered, scandalized. “Family? How presumptuous!”
The rain drummed harder upon the flagstones, and a gust sent a scatter of cool drops across the threshold. The girls shivered, their shoulders quaking beneath tattered pelisses, while his butler, impervious to pity, regarded them with glacial composure.
Sebastian stepped out of the shadowed hall into the light, making his presence known. “That will do, Gerald. The weather has already turned vicious, and I have no desire to be known as the sort of barbarian who leaves women to its mercy.”
“My lord, I was only safeguarding your privacy and safety,” Gerald managed with a sniff. “The young lady was rather too strident in her demands.”
“Then it is fortunate I arrived before she breached the walls. Stand aside, Gerald,” Sebastian said lightly. He looked at the ladies and inclined his head. “Come in, if you please. You will catch your deaths if you remain out there.”
Relief and uncertainty flickered over the younger girls’ faces.
The eldest held his regard a heartbeat longer, as though measuring his sincerity, then gave a small, graceful nod and stepped over the threshold.
Rain tapped a quick farewell upon the door as it shut behind them.
Warmth gathered in the entry hall from a banked fire, and the faint scent of beeswax polish rose from the floors.
The younger girls shivered violently, and the smallest one sneezed.
“This way,” Sebastian said, leading them along the wide corridor.
He slowed his stride just enough to observe without rudeness. The one who appeared to be the youngest shivered harder, the other two pressed closer together, and the eldest walked as if she shepherded not only her family but tiredness itself.
“We are dripping upon your floors, my lord; I apologize,” their leader said. “We do not wish to damage your home. Perhaps we might dry by the kitchen fire below stairs.”
“Such consideration is not needed. My floors will survive. If anything is damaged, it will be replaced. See these ladies to the guest quarters,” Sebastian said to the butler.
“Ensure their clothes are laundered and dried. Mrs. Clarke may find them something dry to wear if the contents of their valises are also wet. Bring hot water and towels to their rooms, along with tea and something substantial from the kitchen.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The girls glanced at each other, relief evident in their gazes.
“Thank you,” the leader said, lowering into an awkward curtsy. “I am Miss Darcy Whitley, my lord, and these are my sisters.”
She nodded to the other three girls who stood straight-backed, their hands folded before them with disciplined calm, though they looked like bedraggled waifs.
At Miss Whitley’s delicate clearing of her throat, they dipped into curtsies, their gazes betraying raw nerves.
The servants lifted the valises from chilled hands and whisked away the damp cloaks.
Mrs. Clarke, the housekeeper, arrived with two maids and ushered the younger girls away.
Miss Whitley’s eyes, amber-brown and keen, glittered with uncertainty.
The soaked bonnet, askew upon her head, lost its battle and fell, revealing wet, matted dark hair threaded with honey-gold and red streaks.
Her hand darted to catch the bonnet, and he noted several holes in her gloves.
Up close, the set of her mouth held a softness he found unreasonably intriguing.
Sebastian nearly scoffed at himself. She looked like a drowned rat on the verge of toppling; there ought to be nothing appealing about her.
“I was on my way out, so I shall leave you to Mrs. Clarke’s care,” Sebastian said. “She will provide whatever you require. Attend me in the library at ten tomorrow morning, Miss Whitley. Then you may explain how four ladies unknown to me came to regard themselves as my family.”
She sank into another awkward curtsy, as though her soaked gown were pulling her to her knees. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord.”
Sebastian inclined his head, turned, collected his cane with its hidden blade, and stepped out, trusting his staff to see the ladies properly situated.
Once inside the carriage, he did not knock upon the roof to send the coachman on.
An unfamiliar restlessness had taken hold.
He turned the last few minutes over in his mind.
We are the earl’s family.
He drew a steady breath. There lay the source of his disquiet.
They were no relation of his. It must be some ruse.
Even if they were gentle-bred women, he would be a fool to seek diversion while four strangers occupied his home under a claim of kinship.
He needed to understand their purpose before he underestimated those he had admitted beneath his roof.
They might yet prove the most accomplished sort of charlatans.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.
For weeks, he had risen before dawn. He sat late over business in town: considering petitions for Catholic relief in the Lords, weighing speeches on France’s march into Spain and Britain’s wary neutrality, and conferring with allies over reciprocity measures and their consequences for trade.
Committee rooms claimed his afternoons with canal and turnpike bills, clauses to amend, and witnesses to hear, while letters arrived from magistrates on grain prices and parish relief.
His estates demanded what remained of him, from rents and repairs to harvest forecasts and the millrace.
With the Season in full swing, he had ignored a flood of ballroom invitations, grateful that his mother and sister were settled in Bath for an extended stay.
Tonight was the first time in weeks Sebastian had set aside figures, leases, political motions, and correspondence and permitted himself an evening of diversion.
Hell, it had been almost six months since he had taken a lover to his bed.
He sat a moment in the dim interior of the carriage, listening to the rain slap against the roof, irritation pounding through his veins.
His hand rose toward the trap and then fell again.
Sebastian pushed open the door and stepped down into the drizzle. “I shall remain at home tonight,” he told his coachman. “Return the carriage to the mews and see the horses well rubbed down.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Sebastian hastened through the rain and re-entered the house. The hall’s warmth at once stripped away the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to a footman. He took the stairs two at a time and turned along the guest corridor.
A maid carrying a brass candlestick hesitated at the corner, lowering into a quick curtsy.
“The eldest of our guests,” he said. “Which chamber?”
She inclined her head toward the far door. “The chamber at the end, my lord.”
Sebastian went to it and knocked. A quiet voice within bade him enter.
He opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and stopped as if he had struck a wall.
His damn heart lurched, and his mouth dried.
The lady stood in nothing but a fine lawn chemise, so thin it was nearly transparent.
The delicate fabric clung to the soft rise of her breasts and revealed the dusky shadows of her nipples, drawn tight whether from chill or awareness, he could not tell.
A darker triangle lay veiled beneath the suggestion of curls where the muslin kissed her thighs.
Her hair, loosened from its pins, tumbled in damp, heavy waves to one sensual hip.
A faint fragrance of honeysuckle drifted to him, until the very air seemed steeped in her scent and each breath became an alluring temptation.
“By God, you are lovely.” The words slipped from Sebastian before he had the presence of mind to temper his admiration.
A low sound escaped her, yet she remained motionless, eyes wide, a flush deepening across her cheeks with every heartbeat.
Still, Miss Whitley did not move. Hunger surged through Sebastian, swift and unexpected.
His cock hardened on a heavy pulse as need coursed through him like the finest whisky, warm, swift, and reckless.
Sebastian took a single step closer. “Tell me, Miss Whitley, have I mistaken this for an invitation to delight myself?”
His voice seemed to release her. She gasped and darted to the bed, vanishing beneath the coverlet.
It was too late. The image had branded itself upon his mind with indecent clarity, while his body had answered with a swiftness that startled him.
He was long accustomed to beauty and had not felt such immediate desire in years; his appetites were usually teased and coaxed forth by subtle sensualities, not roused to this ravenous pitch.
Sebastian drew a breath that did not steady him and found, to his irritation and fascination, that he wanted another look… perhaps a taste. The forbidden nature of her presence lent her a darker, more wicked allure. “Are you married?”
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I… no, of course not. But I should like to be.”
She sounded uncertain, as though his bluntness had disordered her thoughts.
“Are you affianced?”
She gave him a baffled look. “No. Though I confess I cannot imagine why my marital prospects concern you, my lord.”
Sebastian decided this was not the moment to tell her he wanted her as his lover. Arrogant though the certainty was, he felt he could tempt her into his bed; he was a generous lover, prodigal with pleasure and provision. She would want for nothing.
Miss Whitley clutched the coverlet to her chin, a tremor running through her frame. “I thought you were my sister Emelia, my lord. You had left, and I never imagined it was you at the door. That is the only reason I bade you enter.”
Bloody hell, of course she had.
Sebastian took a step back. “I should have announced myself. Forgive the intrusion; it was badly done of me.”
She shook her head almost frantically. “My lord, this is your home. I would never presume to require you to announce yourself—”
Her words broke off as three younger girls rushed through the open door, swept past him, and arrayed themselves before the bed, as if shielding a fair maiden from a beast.
Dark amusement stirred in Sebastian. “Now that you are dry, I would have all four of you attend me in the library. You will find it through the fourth door on the left of the second landing. I am no longer inclined to wait until morning to learn what is afoot.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He observed the faint tremor of her mouth, and suspicion flared within Sebastian.
He left them and made his way to the library on the second floor.
The heavy draperies were drawn, and rain still hissed against the panes.
A fire crackled in the hearth, driving back the night’s chill.
Several minutes passed; his restlessness sharpened, and he wondered what tale they meant to spin.
A knock sounded. He bade them enter, and all four young ladies came in together, now properly dressed in gowns so worn the seams seemed to hold by grace alone.
Sebastian considered them for a few beats before saying, “Please avail yourselves of the comfort of the sofas.”
The three younger girls glanced at the eldest. At her small nod, they followed her to the nearest sofa and sat, hands neatly folded. Their carriage and composure spoke of training in the proprieties expected of ladies of quality, though fortune had clearly run thin.
Sebastian remained standing, one hand lightly upon the back of a chair, the other at his side. “You have claimed kinship with me,” he said, courteous but cool. “You will now oblige me by explaining precisely who you are.”
The eldest clasped her hands in her lap. The way her fingers twisted together told Sebastian all he needed to know about her nerves.
She cleared her throat delicately. “I am Miss Darcy Whitley.”
“That much, Miss Whitley, I have managed to ascertain,” he returned, inclining his head.
“What I do not know is why you appeared upon my doorstep at such an hour and claimed to be my family. Courtesy ought to compel me to wait until morning. Curiosity, however, has never been a particularly courteous impulse. Why are you here?”
Her lips parted, breath catching as though the speech she rehearsed had deserted her at the moment of need. She drew a steadying breath. “I… I…”
He lifted a brow. “Surely you have not come so far only to let your wits and courage desert you now, Miss Whitley?”
A pretty flush rose along her cheekbones; before she could answer, one of the girls blurted, high and breathless, “We are your sisters, my lord. Your family!”