The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation (Sins & Sensibilities #5)
Chapter 1
“I do not jest, sir, and I cannot conceive why you should think I do. While it is unseemly to call upon his lordship at such an indecent hour, we were left with no choice. Please allow us entry and spare us from this ghastly downpour.”
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.
Rain fell in earnest; their pelisses were darkened, hems dragging wet and heavy, water beading upon their bonnet and slipping from the brims in steady threads.
Three of the girls wore anxious, hopeful expressions.
The fourth—clearly their leader and the eldest—looked prepared to effect a siege by 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 along Sebastian’s senses.
Who in blazes were they, and why had they chosen his door for such a nonsensical display?
“I will not repeat—”
“Pray inform his lordship that I bear urgent business; for the third time, I entreat an audience without delay,” she said, jutting her chin.
“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 his lordship would not take kindly to the disregard and contempt you are showing us. If our presence so puts you out, perhaps it is permissible to use the servants’ entrance, and we await his lordship in the kitchens.
I suggest you accept this compromise because we are not leaving, sir. ”
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 is turning, and I have no desire to be known as the sort of barbarian who leaves women to the mercy of the rain.”
“My lord, I was only safeguarding your privacy and safety,” Gerald managed with a sniff. “This miss was rather too strident in her demands.”
“A formidable siege indeed. Pray, stand aside,” Sebastian said lightly. He looked to 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, regal 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, two pressed closer, and the eldest walked as if she shepherded not only her sisters but tiredness itself.
“We… our clothes are very wet, your lordship,” their leader said. “We do not wish to damage your home. Perhaps we could dry by the fire below stairs in the kitchens.”
“Such consideration is not needed. 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, and perhaps Mrs. Clark might find them something dry to wear if their valises are soaked through. Bring hot water and towels to their rooms along with tea and something substantial from the kitchen, Gerald.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The girls glanced at each other, relief evident in their gaze.
“Thank you, my lord,” the leader said, lowering into an awkward curtsy. “I… I am Miss Darcy Whitley, and these are my sisters.”
She nodded to the other three girls who stood with their posture straight, hands folded before them with disciplined calm, yet looking like bedraggled waifs.
The eldest delicately cleared her throat, and they dipped into curtsies and stared at him with raw nerves in their gazes.
Valises were lifted from chilled hands, and damp cloaks were whisked away.
Mrs. Clarke, the housekeeper, came with a pair of maids and ushered the younger girls away.
The eldest’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 streaks.
Her hand darted to catch the bonnet, and he noted the 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 and shall not delay my departure,” Sebastian said. “Mrs. Clarke will see to your comfort and assist you in any matter you require. I will take my leave, and you will attend me in the library in the morning, where we shall discuss your presence in my house.”
She sank into another awkward curtsy, as though her soaked gown were pulling her to her knees. “I… thank you for this 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.
A small restlessness had taken hold, one he had not felt before.
He turned over in his mind the scene that had unfolded in the last few minutes.
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, and even if they were gentle-bred women, it would be wiser to understand their purpose than to go seeking diversion and underestimate those he had admitted to his house.
They could be the worst kind of charlatans.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his damp hair.
For weeks, he had risen before dawn and sat late over business in town: attending the Lords on petitions for Catholic relief, weighing speeches on France’s march into Spain and Britain’s wary neutrality, and conferring with allies regarding reciprocity measures and what they portended for trade.
Committee rooms claimed his afternoons with canal and turnpike bills to examine, clauses to amend, and witnesses to hear, while letters arrived from magistrates on grain prices and parish relief.
Then his estate matters demanded attention, from rents and repairs to harvest forecasts and the millrace.
Despite the season in full swing, he ignored a flood of ballroom invitations, grateful that his mother and sister were settled in Bath for an extended stay.
Tonight had been the first Sebastian had permitted himself to set aside figures and leases and political motions and letters in favor of diversion.
Hell, it had been almost four months since he took 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 am not going out tonight after all,” 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 with a candle in a brass stick hesitated at the corner, lowering into a quick curtsy.
“The eldest of our guests,” he said. “Which chamber?”
“This way, my lord.” She inclined her head toward the far door.
Sebastain 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 the subtle shadow of her nipples, which had drawn tight, whether from chill or from 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 soap drifted to him, the intimate scent of a recent bath, until it felt as if the very air had been steeped in her, carrying a suffocating allure.
“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, one cheek flushing deeper with every heartbeat. An unexpected surge of hunger went through Sebastian; his body answered with an unhelpful throb. The woman still did not move.
His cock stirred on a hard pulse, and need coursed so swiftly through his body it was as intoxicating as the finest whisky, warm and reckless. He took a single step closer. “Is this an invitation to delight myself, Miss Whitley ?”
His voice seemed to release her. She gasped and darted to the bed, vanishing beneath the coverlet.
It was too late. The image had fixed itself upon his mind with indecent clarity and upon his body with a swiftness that startled him.
He was a man long accustomed to beauty, a man who had not felt immediate desire in years; his appetites were usually teased and coaxed forth by subtle sensualities, not roused to devour and consume.
Sebastian drew a breath that did not steady him and found, to his irritation and fascination, that he wanted another look… perhaps a taste. Her unexpected presence now presented a far darker, more wicked allure. “Are you married?”
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I… no, of course not; but I… I should like to be.”
How questioning and uncertain she sounded beneath his directness. “Are you affianced?”
She gave him a look of bafflement. “No. I do not understand the reason for these questions, my lord.”
Sebastian decided it was not the moment to say he wanted her for his lover. Arrogant as it was, he felt certain he could draw her under his charm; he was a generous lover, prodigal with pleasure and provision. She would want for nothing.
She clutched the coverlet to her chin, a tremor running through her frame. “I thought you were my sister, Emelia, my lord. You left, and I never imagined it was you knocking. That was the only reason I asked you to enter.”
Bloody hell. Of course. Sebastian took a step back. “I should have announced myself; forgive me for the intrusion. It was badly done of me.”
She shook her head almost frantically. “My lord, this is your home. I would never presume that you would have to announce—”
Her words broke off as three younger girls rushed through the open door, 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, pray attend me in the library. It is the fourth door on the left on the second landing. I find I cannot wait until morning to understand what is afoot.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He observed the faint tremor of her mouth, and suspicion flared within Sebastian.
He turned away and went down 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.
Restlessness stirred again, and he wondered what tale they meant to spin.
A knock sounded. He bade them enter, and all four young ladies came in at once, properly dressed now in gowns so worn the seams seemed to hold by grace alone.
Sebastian considered them for a few beats before saying, “Pray avail yourselves of the comfort of the sofas.”
The three younger girls glanced at the eldest. At her small nod, they crossed with her to the nearest sofa and sat, hands neatly folded. Their carriage and composure spoke of training in decorum and the proprieties of ladies of quality, though fortune had clearly run thin.
Sebastian remained standing a moment, one hand lightly upon the back of a chair, the other at his side. “Now that you are here,” he said, courteous but cool, “you will oblige me with the courtesy of telling me who you are.”
The eldest clasped her hands in her lap. The small twisting of her fingers told Sebastian all he needed to know about her nerves.
She cleared her throat delicately. “I am Miss Darcy Whitley.”
“So you have already mentioned, Miss Whitley,” he returned, inclining his head. “Why were you upon my doorstep at such an hour, demanding an audience with me? Courtesy dictates I wait until you are refreshed, but I am impatient and curious. Why are you here?”
Her lips parted, breath catching as if she had rehearsed a speech and now found it stuck in her throat. She drew a steadying breath. “I… I…”
He lifted a brow. “Surely you have come too far to have your wits and courage desert you?”
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!”