An Invitation to Sin

by Suzanne Enoch

  A sensuous smile curved his mouth once more. “I had to bribe the head violinist for a list of the dances to be played.” Zachary pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “This is the first time I’ve had to make myself a dance card.”

  Trying to remain focused, she erased a strand of hair that strayed across his forehead, then put it back. It looked good there, as it did on him in person. “Yes,” she said, her gaze on the drawing. “I’m certain that even without my sisters you will be very much in demand.”

  He reached behind him for the door and slowly closed it again. “Are you jealous, Caroline?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And I have not given you leave to use my Christian name.”

  “Then do so.”

  “No.” Pretending to return to her work and hoping her cheeks weren’t flushed, she waved a hand at him. “Go fishing.”

  Silence answered her. When she looked up, he was directly in front of her, close enough to touch.

  “If I hadn’t felt your mouth on mine,” he murmured, tilting her chin up, “or your fingers on my skin, I might believe you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t care. I told you, I need to paint your portrait. You kissed me, and as for the rest, I was viewing your musculature solely in order to aid me in becoming a better artist.”

  Deep gray eyes held her gaze. “Really,” he finally said, otherwise unmoving. “So to you I’m not a man but an object.”

  He had begun that way, at least. She refused to look away. “Yes.”

  Zachary leaned in until she could feel his breath on her lips. Her body screamed at her to close the space, to drink in the warm masculinity she’d so briefly tasted before. Her mind, though, was shouting with equal strength the word Vienna. If she gave in to her senses, to her body, she would love it for a moment and regret it for a lifetime. Caroline lifted her hand and brushed his fingers from her face.

  “I believe you have an appointment to go fishing,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.

  He nodded, backing away. “So I do. But next time, Caroline, you’re going to have to kiss me. I won’t pursue where I’m not wanted.”

  “You’re not wanted by me.”

  Zachary smiled darkly, the expression alone doing some odd things to her insides. “Liar.”

  Before she could conjure a reply, he slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind him. Caroline dropped her pad to her lap and concentrated on taking deep breaths. When that didn’t banish either his image or his scent from her mind, she stood to pace. How could he do that, make her feel as if her feet were hovering an inch or two off the ground? Make her feel like she did when she was in the midst of painting—not quite part of the world, but at the same time touching every bit of it?

  “Men,” she snarled. He only claimed interest because he thought she must be playing hard to get or some such thing. It wasn’t a game, though. How could she make him realize that?

  Devil take it. If she’d been one of her overeager sisters, he would be running in the opposite direction as fast as his fit, fine legs would carry him. Caroline slowed her strides. Perhaps that was it. For as long as she needed him she would be…herself, telling him truthfully that she didn’t want his attentions. That would certainly keep him nearby and interested.

  Once she’d finished her work, however, all she needed to do was pretend to be Susan or Joanna or Julia for a half dozen minutes. He would think, as he did with her siblings, that he was being trapped—and then he would flee, thereby leaving her in peace until she heard from Vienna and had been accepted into Monsieur Tannberg’s studio.

  “Perfect.” The only remaining problem—problems—was how to resist her attraction to him and figure out what was wrong with her sketch before she began painting. And if she could persuade him to strip out of his shirt again, well, she would consider it as a pleasant bonus to her artistic education.

  Aunt Tremaine gave her coach over to the Witfelds. Even two vehicles, though, weren’t enough to accommodate the entire household and their guests in all of their evening finery. Despite his best efforts, Zachary found himself in the lead coach with Mrs. Witfeld, Susan, and Grace.

  “Oh, this is going to be so delightful,” Sally Witfeld exclaimed, clasping one of Susan’s hands and squeezing. “I only wish our own soiree might have come first. But no matter, we’ll make such an impression tonight that everyone will be clamoring to attend the Witfeld ball.”

  Zachary tried to crane a glance out the window to see who was piling into the second vehicle, but their own coach lurched into motion before he could see more than a swirl of silks. “I’m sure you’re right. The assembly will serve to whet your neighbors’ appetites.”

  “Just so, my lord. And don’t my girls look lovely? I told Susan to wear her new blue silk. Doesn’t it bring out her eyes?”

  “Yes, it does. All of your daughters are so lovely I can scarcely believe my own good fortune at being here.”

  Mrs. Witfeld batted her fan against his knee. “You are such a gentleman.”

  “My thanks, madame. Are you certain the second coach doesn’t require an escort?”

  “Oh, no. Joanna and Julia and Violet are seeing to your aunt.”

  He hid his frown. “What of the rest of your family?” And Caroline in particular?

  “We have it all planned out, Zachary,” Susan said, batting her eyes at him. “This carriage will return for Papa, Caro, and Anne. It doesn’t signify if they’re late, because Caro and Papa hardly ever dance, anyway.”

  Even so, he meant to save a dance for the eldest Witfeld daughter, just on principle. In the meantime, the look in Susan’s eyes worried him, despite the subtle instruction he’d given over the past few days. He had no intention of letting either the girls or himself become a spectacle or a laughingstock. “You do look very fine, Miss Susan. You’ll have all the young gentlemen falling over themselves to gain a spot on your dance card.”

  “Well, that’s very nice, but what about me?” Grace smoothed the wrist of her white, elbow-length gloves.

  “All of you will be setting the Trowbridge assembly on its ear.”

  They arrived at the assembly rooms in the midst of a dozen other carriages. It took some effort for the family matriarch to keep the Witfelds together, especially as the second coach rolled to a stop behind them.

  “Girls, girls!” she called over the general chaos, “stay together and watch your slippers. The horses have been here.”

  Susan grabbed Zachary’s arm, nearly pulling him to the ground. “Stay with me, Zachary. I want Martin Williams to see us enter together.”

  It seemed a little far-fetched to think that Mr. Williams would even be able to spot Susan in the crush of guests, let alone be jealous to see her in the company of her houseguest. Zachary acquiesced without protest, however, since he had no idea where they were going, and Susan obviously did.

  “Let’s proceed,” Mrs. Witfeld announced, straightening her large green matron’s bonnet and ushering the twins before her.

  Zachary took Aunt Tremaine’s arm with his free hand. “You look very fetching tonight, my dear,” he drawled.

  “I could wear a sack and no one would notice,” she returned promptly, lifting her cane to lean more heavily on him, “as long as you are present.”

  He grinned. “I’ve always wanted to be the belle of the ball,” he murmured back at her.

  “Ah.” His aunt glanced ahead of them at the doorway. “Be careful what you wish for, my love.”

  Zachary followed her gaze. “Damn. So that’s what it looks like.”

  “What what looks like?”

  “The road to hell,” he answered. “I believe it’s supposed to be paved with good intentions or some such thing.”

  The throng of females gathered around the assembly room entrance terrified him. All sizes, all ages, and all looking at him with that same off-putting light of hope in their eyes. Now he knew what a grouse felt like on the opening day of bird hunting season. Sweet Luc
ifer. And he’d thought the Witfeld ladies had been overwhelming.

  “I’ve never seen so many people at an assembly,” Susan whispered, giggling. “Everyone in eastern Wiltshire must be here.”

  Everyone except Caroline Witfeld. He pasted a smile on his face, bobbing like a chicken as he was introduced to a hundred people whose names he would never remember after tonight. The Griffins were notoriously charming, however, and he wasn’t about to impune the family reputation while he was in the midst of trying to impress Melbourne.

  “I’ve checked with Mrs. Howard,” Joanna said, prancing back up to the group, “and the orchestra is only to play two waltzes. She says they’re too scandalous.”

  “Mama, we’ll have more than two waltzes at our soiree, won’t we?” Julia demanded plaintively.

  “Of course, dear. Oh, look, it’s Mr. Anderton.” She leaned into Zachary, her rose-scented perfume thick and overwhelming. “He’s a solicitor, and quite a fan of Caroline’s work. She’s done his portrait, you know.”

  Zachary looked at him as he approached. Tall, about fifteen or so years older than himself, with brown hair beginning to thin a little on the crown, he looked like what he was—a solicitor for the land-owning folk of eastern Wiltshire. Normally Zachary wouldn’t have given him a second look, but Mrs. Witfeld had made a point of singling him out, and of mentioning Caroline’s connection with him.

  “Mr. Anderton,” Sally said, beaming, “may I present Lord Zachary Griffin? Lord Zachary, Mr. Anderton.”

  They shook hands. As Zachary sized up the solicitor, he couldn’t help wondering whether Mr. Anderton’s portrait sitting had gone anything like his own. For all he knew, Caroline somehow seduced all of her male subjects into kissing her and stripping half naked for her. Zachary didn’t like that idea very much, particularly after she’d rebuffed his last attempt at inviting her to sin. But damnation, a man could stand only so much temptation.

  “You’ve livened up our dull summer, my lord,” Anderton said. “We’ve never had so many citizens attend an assembly.”

  “Glad I could be of assistance.” Zachary smiled. “The Misses Witfeld have all been promising me some fine dancing.”

  The solicitor chuckled. “Having partnered with all of them, I can assure you that they’re not exaggerating.”

  So he’d danced with Caroline, who, according to her sisters, didn’t take the dance floor very often. That settled that. He and Caroline were going to dance tonight.

  “Oh, it’s Lord and Lady Eades,” Mrs. Witfeld exclaimed. “Excuse us, Mr. Anderton. Come, my lord, I have to introduce you. Caroline is a particular favorite of theirs. They’ve offered her a governess position for their children.”

  A governess position? That didn’t make any sense. The family seemed convinced that the eldest Witfeld daughter would be in Vienna by the end of the summer. A governess position hardly seemed worth mentioning, compared to that. Unless he was missing some part of the equation, of course, which, according to his family, happened to him fairly frequently.

  Mrs. Witfeld clasped his arm, keeping him attached to her ample side. “Lord and Lady Eades,” she said, sinking into an overelegant curtsy that nearly overbalanced the two of them, “may I present Lord Zachary Griffin? Lord Zachary is youngest brother to the Duke of Melbourne.”

  Zachary gave a shallow bow. “Pleased to meet you.”

  He knew most of England’s noblemen; power tended to gravitate toward power, and no one had more of that than his brother. Somehow, though, his lack of acquaintance with Lord Eades didn’t surprise him. Both the earl and his wife wore powdered wigs—high style among the aristocracy ten years earlier. The pair of them probably hadn’t been to London in at least that long.

  “Likewise, my lord,” Eades returned in a nasal voice. “Do come and call on us; our hospitality is much admired, I believe.”

  “Oh, of course it is,” Mrs. Witfeld said enthusiastically.

  “I’ll do that, then.” When hell froze over.

  “We look forward to it. If you’ll excuse us?”

  “How old is the earl?” Zachary asked Mrs. Witfeld as soon as they were out of hearing.

  “Five and forty, I believe.”

  “And why are they so…formally attired?”

  “They do look horribly elegant, don’t they? We all aspire to their standards.”

  He wouldn’t have been caught dead aspiring to those standards. As the crowd and the din continued to increase, though, he settled for nodding politely. The assembly room was so jam-packed he didn’t see how anyone could move, but as the orchestra began to play, the dance floor miraculously cleared.

  “This is our dance, I believe, Zachary,” Julia said, deftly separating him from her mother.

  They lined up for the country dance. All the other Witfeld girls in attendance joined them with their own partners; evidently Susan had been correct, and her father’s edict against officers didn’t extend to dancing with them at the assemblies. The sea of red uniforms was rather impressive. Zachary could imagine himself among them in a month or two. Except he wouldn’t be dancing in Wiltshire. He would be fighting in Belgium or Spain against Bonaparte.

  With the number of dancers on the floor, he assumed they would be split into two groups, but apparently he was the only one with a grasp of logic. Each female, it seemed, meant to take a turn with him. By the time he and Julia progressed down the entire line, the dance had already been going on for twenty minutes.

  He’d begun to wonder if Caroline had managed to avoid attending when he finished a turn and saw her. She’d donned a deep gold silk gown with a low neckline, a film of lace across her bosom and frothing at her sleeves. Her auburn hair was piled artistically on her head, and strategic strands escaped to frame her fair-skinned, fresh face.

  Zachary nearly lost his place and had to hurry a step to keep from upsetting the flow of the dance. Damn. Just because she didn’t look her usual disheveled, preoccupied self didn’t mean he had to lose his head.

  Finally the dance ended, and he led Julia back to her mother and the rest of the brood. “That wasn’t fair!” Violet said, joining them. “We’ll only have time for three dances if they all take that long!”

  “At least you got to take a turn with him,” Anne said, charming in a light lavender silk. “I wasn’t even here.”

  “Oh, never mind that,” Susan countered. “Look at all the young gentlemen in attendance tonight.”

  For a brief second Zachary met Caroline’s gaze. He wanted to talk to her, to ask her about Eades and the governess position. For the moment, though, he settled for offering her a smile. “You look lovely tonight,” he murmured beneath the female cacophony.

  “So do you. Perhaps I should paint you in that jacket. The blue deepens the gray color of your eyes.”

  That sounded like a compliment he would hand out to a chit he was after. “Are you trying to seduce me, Caroline?”

  “You’re the one who keeps taking your shirt off,” she returned calmly.

  “I only took it off once,” he retorted, “after you practically dared me to.”

  She blushed but lifted her chin. “I’m an artist. We don’t live by convention.”

  For a warm moment he wished and hoped that was true. “Then leave your conventional self behind tonight and dance a waltz with me.”

  The smooth skin of her cheek jumped. “That would cause a riot.”

  “I’ll risk it. Besides, I’ve given you hours of my time this week. All I ask in return is a waltz.”

  Her shoulders lifted and lowered. “You’ve given everyone hours of your time this week, but very well.”

  A commotion by the refreshment table caught his attention. “What the—”

  “Oh, dear,” Caroline muttered. “Poor Mr. Williams.”

  Zachary turned to view the fit-looking young man with the almond-colored hair. So that was Martin Williams. He wasn’t easy to make out, because at the moment he was surrounded by six ladies all trying to talk to him at the same
time. “Blast it, I thought they all had their own beaux. Not the same bloody one.”

  “You thought what?” Bright green eyes looked at him suspiciously.

  “Nothing.”

  Caroline tilted her head at him. “You sent them all after Martin Williams, didn’t you?”

  “I—”

  “Why? Just so you wouldn’t have to put up with their company?”

  “No. Of course n—”

  “Or was it so you wouldn’t be embarrassed by the Witfeld girls fawning all over you in front of the citizens of Trowbridge?”

  “Caroline, have I done anything but be polite and friendly to your sisters?”

  “No, but—”

  “And do you think it is in their best interest to do nothing but bring me glasses of Madeira and lemonade and complain about the number of dances all evening?”

  “So you sent them to pursue Mr. Williams instead?”

  He shook his head, unable to hide a frustrated grimace. “I suggested to each of them that there must be a local gentleman they admire, and that perhaps he might find them charming, as well.”

  She gave her delicate, amused snort. “And they all decided on the same man.”

  “I didn’t mean to set the hounds on him.”

  Her pretty eyes narrowed. “My sisters might be naive and somewhat misguided, but I would hardly accuse them of being hounds setting upon anyone.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Caroline.”

  “Miss Witfeld,” she corrected sharply. “For the last time, I have not given you leave to use my Christian name.”

  His vision of the evening flying madly out of control, Zachary took her hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “It’s not me you’ve insulted.” She tugged her hand free. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Zachary. I wouldn’t want to monopolize your time this evening after I’ve taken so much of it this week already.”

  He stood back and watched her walk away, trying to ignore the soft sway of her hips and the lemon scent of her hair. Devil a bit. Yes, he could be ham-fisted, but generally not with a lady. And Caroline had to know the truth about her own siblings—hell, she’d lived with their chaos her entire life.