Something Sinful

by Suzanne Enoch

  “We’ll need to hold it soon, or it’ll look as though we were taken by surprise.”

  As he’d been taken by surprise last night. Charlemagne blew out his breath. He’d encountered the unexpected before, though rarely, but nothing had affected his…his heart the way this had. He’d asked for time to think; since then, though, he’d spent most of his time trying to decipher how he’d felt when he’d realized that another man had been with Sarala. And wondering whether he could stand ever feeling that way again. “May I have the use of the warehouse on Half Moon Street for the next fortnight or so?”

  The duke faced him. “For the silks? That’s a good location.”

  “Then I’ll have Farlow and a half dozen of his people keep a rotating watch. Roberts can coordinate it.”

  “So now you’re all business again? If you’ve purged yourself of the wish to be married, you need to let me know. Preferably before I host a ball announcing your engagement.”

  “The Times has already run the announcement, thanks to your obsession with propriety.”

  “Then let’s make the soiree a week from Thursday,” Melbourne said, otherwise ignoring the sarcasm.

  “You might want to consult with Lady Hanover about that.”

  Melbourne’s expression hardened. “I will do no such thing. You’re doing that negotiating, as I recall.”

  “I know for a fact that she has her own ideas about the details of the festivities—and the wedding.”

  “Mm-hm. And where is that to take place?”

  Charlemagne hesitated. It had been an amusing conversation up to this point, but he didn’t want to hurt Sebastian. “She mentioned Westminster. I thought St. Paul’s would be more appropriate.”

  “Eleanor married in Gretna Green after an elopement, and Zachary wed in Shropshire to accommodate Caroline’s absurdly large family. You should wed at Westminster Abbey.”

  “I’m a second son.”

  “You’re also my heir presumptive. Westminster Abbey.”

  “You don’t mind, Seb?”

  His brother took a breath. “I have nothing but fond memories of my wedding day. I certainly don’t wish to tear the church down because Charlotte died four years later.”

  He was actually talking about it. As far as Charlemagne knew, Sebastian never spoke of Charlotte to anyone but Peep.

  “Then Westminster Abbey it is. Thank you.”

  The duke nodded. “I’ll send a letter to that…woman and tell her when and where the betrothal ball will be held.” He set the cue across the table and walked to the door. “Give me a date sometime before that night, so I can announce it at the party.”

  Charlemagne frowned. “A date?”

  “For the wedding. Unless you intend to get yourself beheaded by foreign swordsmen before then.”

  “No, I’ll try to avoid that.” He rose, following his brother into the hallway. “I’m going to inspect the silks and move them from Hanover’s warehouse to ours. I thought making certain they’re in good condition and protected before I hand them over might be wise.”

  “Take someone with you. Or I’ll go.”

  “Not necessary. I’ll take Timmons and Farlow with his crew and the wagons. And Sarala and her accountant, to make certain I have all the paperwork.”

  Melbourne hesitated before he vanished into his office. “Is that wise?”

  Charlemagne smiled grimly. “You know I’m fairly efficient at taking care of myself. And I’m certainly not going to let anything happen to her.” He went to send a note over to Carlisle House, asking if she wished to join him.

  “Shay?”

  He stopped at the head of the stairs. “Yes?”

  “Do you love her? Sarala?”

  Heat ran through his chest. “I’m very fond of Sarala. When I come to that moment, you’ll be the third person to know.”

  “Fair enough. Invite her family for luncheon on Wednesday. We’ll talk about…invitations for the ball.” A grimace crossed his face. “And decorations.”

  Charlemagne chuckled. “Shall I ask Nell over as well?”

  “Good God, yes.”

  A year ago, even a few months ago, he doubted Sebastian would have showed any kind of humor over this at all. Interesting, that. Was Sebastian becoming more human? Or had the onslaught of recent events simply worn him down? Whatever the reason, the change was a welcome one.

  “Uncle Shay, I need to talk to you.”

  He turned around as he sealed the note to Sarala. “I am at your service, Peep.”

  She strolled into the morning room, brushing at her green muslin skirt as he’d seen Eleanor do on numerous occasions. “I overheard you and Papa upstairs.”

  Swiftly he ran through the conversation. None of it had been of a particularly intimate or violent nature, thank God. “Yes?”

  “I have a disagreement with you.”

  “Really?” He summoned Stanton to have his note delivered. “About what?” he continued as a servant left the house.

  “You can’t just decide to be in love, you know.”

  He frowned, quickly wiping the expression from his face. “I didn’t—”

  “You told Papa that when you came to the moment when you were in love, you would tell him. That’s silly.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. You have to do some things before you can be in love. It’s a proven fact.”

  “Hm.” He moved to the sofa, motioning for her to join him. “Please explain further.”

  “Very well.” She plunked herself down beside him. “When Nell lived here, she and Lady Barbara would sometimes read to one another, and I would go into the room upstairs and listen through the fireplace.”

  Thank God he’d never brought women to Griffin House. “You shouldn’t have done that, Peep.”

  “How else am I supposed to find out what’s going on? Half the time no one tells me anything.” She patted his knee. “So you should listen. To be in love, you have to fight a villain, usually with a sword. Sometimes a pistol is acceptable. And then the lady cries, and you beat on your chest or tear your shirt before you sweep her up in your arms.” She leaned closer, cupping her hand to his ear. “And then you kiss,” she whispered, and straightened again.

  “And that’s how you fall in love?”

  Peep nodded, folding her hands on her lap. “That is how it’s done. So you see, you can’t just say it. You don’t always beat your chest, but since you’re the man, you do have to accomplish something heroic. Sometimes, for example, you have to fight a dragon, but I think that might just be a mistake and it’s actually a large wolf or a lion or something, because I’m almost positive that dragons are imaginary.”

  He nodded, clenching his jaw hard to keep from laughing. “Thank you very much. I had no idea.”

  “I could tell, from what you told Papa. That’s why I had to help you.”

  “So you want me to marry Sarala, then?” he asked, though approval from a seven-year-old seemed a rather pathetic excuse for anything.

  “That’s why I told you how to be in love.” She climbed off the sofa and cobra-charmed her way out of the room.

  In a sense, he wished that Peep’s litany of requirements for love had been correct. It would certainly be much easier to beat his chest or slay a dragon than to make an intelligent decision—after weighing all the consequences and alternatives—that he was actually in love.

  Sarala joined Shay as he walked the perimeter of the new warehouse building. “Tell me again,” she asked, “who it is you think might try to take the silks, other than the people to whom you’re returning them?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, reaching over to take her hand in his.

  She’d noticed that before, that he liked to touch her. Every time he did so now, after what had happened last night, her heart beat faster. “That’s not very confidence-inspiring.”

  “Hm. What I do know is that the more people who know about this, the greater the chances are that someone will decide they would enjoy a war
with China or an international incident involving my family. All they would need to do is toss a torch onto the roof.”

  “Hence the dozen armed men lurking about.”

  “Exactly.”

  She studied his profile for a moment. Every time she gazed at him warmth rushed through her. After last night, the idea of being married to Charlemagne Phillip Griffin didn’t seem so terrible—even with the very high-profile life she would have to live, and the lack of freedom it would entail. Now, though, he was the one who had to decide whether they continued with their betrothal or not. Her behavior had been as unacceptable in Delhi as in London, and of course there would be consequences. Until she knew what the consequences could—would—be, she would have to enjoy this soaring feeling, regardless of whether it was just the result of a very satisfying evening or an anticipation of a life together.

  “I’m going with you tomorrow,” she stated. “To St. James’s Park.”

  “No, you’re not.” He gestured at his secretary, Roberts, who hurried over. “Is Farlow clear that no one is to have access to the warehouse without my direct approval?”

  “Yes, my lord. He’ll have three men here at all times until he hears differently.”

  “Good.”

  As soon the secretary left, Sarala pulled her hand free from Shay’s. “Do you really think you could stop me?”

  “No, but I keep hoping you’ll take pity on my overburdened nerves and stay somewhere safe.”

  She smiled despite her determination not to. “So you’re worried about me?”

  He took a last look around and started back to the coach with her, holding his hand out to her again. She took it; there didn’t seem to be any sense in denying to herself that she craved his touch at least as much as he did hers.

  “I’m not so much worried,” he answered, “as I am…aware. Honestly, when you’re anywhere in the vicinity I want to strip your clothes off and make love to you again. It’s rather distracting.”

  “Oh, good heavens.” Heat speared down her spine to between her thighs. “Then you’ve thought about—I mean, you said you wanted a day or two to consider—what you found out—”

  “I want to marry you,” he said, stopping to face her.

  “Is this because you truly want to marry me, or because a Griffin would rather suffer through an unhappy marriage than cause a scandal by calling off a wedding?”

  Charlemagne released her hand to summon her coach. She’d annoyed him; she could see that in his still expression. Perhaps she was harping on the same note, but for God’s sake, in all her dreams she and her mysterious, unseen husband had been happy. For him the debate might not have signified, but for her it would be a close choice between being ruined and being married miserably.

  “Our engagement party is going to be a week from Thursday,” he said finally, handing her up into the coach. “Sebastian asked me to set a wedding date before then so he can announce it that night.”

  “Shay, you can’t just ignore this. I want—”

  “I told you that I wanted to marry you, Sarala. Take that for what it is: a statement that I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t say such things lightly. In fact, according to my niece I’m taking it too seriously. All I’m supposed to do is fight a dragon and carry you off in my arms.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Don’t come tomorrow. I’ll call on you afterward and let you know how the negotiation went.”

  He could only do that if he was successful. Sarala grabbed his sleeve. “But what if something happens to you?”

  “Then you won’t have to worry about my reasons for wanting to marry you,” he said, flashing her a grin.

  For a moment she scowled at his back, but that obviously wasn’t having any effect on his thick head. Blowing out her breath, she sat back in the coach as Jenny and Warrick joined her, the latter informing the coach driver to take them back to Carlisle House.

  “What do you think, Mr. Warrick?” she asked him after a moment.

  “That Roberts fellow is a bit high in the instep,” her father’s business manager replied stiffly, “but he seems to have a grasp on events. I could wish that Captain Blink had been more straightforward with me, but considering that those Chinese fellows have threatened to behead him and drag Lord Charlemagne off to China in chains, I think your father will be quite pleased that we extricated ourselves so easily.”

  Her heart stopped. “What did you just say?”

  “I—”

  “They want to drag Lord Charlemagne off in chains? He never said anything about that!”

  Warrick’s cheeks reddened. “Then I apologize. I certainly wouldn’t have said anything if—”

  “Men,” she growled.

  Her first instinct was to turn the coach around and confront Shay. She doubted she would get any more information than he’d given her previously, though—she’d learned that much about him, anyway. She could tell herself that she was angry with him for keeping information from her, but beyond that, terror and anxiety pulled at her. If something should happen to him…

  Sharp worry closed her throat. She’d begun to make friends again because of Shay. She’d begun to find her footing in what was to her a foreign country because of him. Her heart leaped whenever she caught sight of him, and his kisses could curl her toes. She, who’d given up on love before she’d ever turned eighteen, suddenly felt inspired to pursue it again—and that was all because of Charlemagne Griffin. With him, her life would be…empty.

  “My lady, do we continue?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes, we do.” She needed to go home and change her gown into something more proper for making a call on someone. And then she needed to go see Eleanor. She hoped the sister would have an insight about how to deal with the brother.

  A curricle stood in her front drive, and she frowned as she recognized the bay gelding waiting in the harness. Lord DeLayne seemed to have nothing better to do than pester her father. While Mr. Warrick hurried off to his office, she and Jenny headed for the stairs and her bedchamber. She hoped DeLayne would never know she’d returned home.

  “Where did you run off to?” her mother asked, emerging from one of the sitting rooms as Sarala reached the first landing.

  “I had to meet Shay about some business,” she replied, glossing over the details but pleased that she didn’t have to lie about what she’d been doing.

  “Well, I have some news for you.” The marchioness held up a letter. “Firstly, His Grace the Duke of Melbourne has invited us to luncheon the day after tomorrow to discuss your betrothal soiree and your wedding. Finally that man is seeing reason, and I tell you it’s about time. I thought I was going to have to challenge him to a duel to get him to listen to me.”

  The duke had actually issued an invitation to them? “That’s very gentlemanly of him,” she offered.

  Lady Hanover frowned. “That’s all you have to say? As I said before, you have to show more enthusiasm, Sarala. We do not want to appear ungrateful.”

  “Yes, Mama,” she said dutifully, if without much feeling. “I’m very pleased.”

  “You’re impossible. That’s what you are. And Lord DeLayne is here to see you. I told him I had no idea where you were or when you would return, but he insisted on waiting. Now he is a gentleman. Make certain you invite him to your soiree.”

  “Yes, Mama. Where is he?”

  “Playing whist with your father in the library.”

  “Thank you, Mama. I’ll go see to him.” She continued up the stairs.

  “And ask him to stay for dinner,” the marchioness called after her.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Both men looked up as she rapped on the open library door. “Beti,” her father said, smiling. “Is everything in place for tomorrow?”

  She just barely refrained from glancing at DeLayne. “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Splendid. I’ve been telling John about our adventures.”

  “Yes,” the viscount a
greed. “Chinese swordsmen and stolen imperial silk. It’s almost too incredible to believe.”

  Damnation. She’d never expected that her father would be such an indiscriminate gossip. “The tale is more exciting than the actual event, I’m afraid,” she lied, remembering what Shay had said about the dangers of the story spreading.

  DeLayne pushed to his feet. “Oh, I don’t know about that. But don’t worry; no one will hear about any of this from me.”

  Sarala inclined her head, not feeling particularly relieved. “I’m glad we can count on your discretion.”

  “Of course. I came to see you this afternoon because I had a letter from Captain Amunford,” he continued. “I wondered if I might share it with you.”

  She liked Charles Amunford, one of the unit commanders stationed in Delhi. “Yes, please.”

  He gestured her out the door and fell in behind her. “How about the garden? It’s a very nice afternoon.”

  Downstairs Blankman pulled open the front door, and they walked around to the side of the house. “May I see the letter?” Sarala asked.

  He cleared his throat. “There isn’t one, actually.”

  She folded her arms, utterly unsurprised. “I didn’t think so. Good day, Lord DeLayne.” Sarala turned back to the house.

  “I wanted an excuse to talk with you, Sarala.”

  She only stopped because he didn’t move after her and didn’t try to grab hold of her. “About what?”

  With a grimace he sat on a partly rusted metal garden chair. “I wanted you to know that you don’t have anything to fear from me.”

  “I don’t fear anything from you, John,” she returned, pleased by her own calm, matter-of-fact tone. The six years she’d spent helping negotiate prices for her father’s business had definitely stood her in good stead.

  “I mean, I think it’s grand that you’ve caught the interest of a Griffin. You couldn’t aim higher than that if you tried. Well done.”

  “I wasn’t hunting or fishing or whatever it is you’re metaphorizing. It happened, and I’m very happy.” Or she would be, if she could convince herself that Shay wanted to marry her because he wanted to marry her, and that he wasn’t merely doing his gentlemanly duty or working to come out the victor in their very personal negotiation.