by Isobel Carr
She stared at the smiling man before her, smoothed suddenly damp hands over her skirts. If only she’d brought the countess’s mastiff with her on this errand. The elegant beau smiling predatorily down at her wouldn’t look nearly so attractive with Caesar pinning him to the ground. It would serve him right to have the immaculate folds of his cravat disordered, his beautiful coat covered in dog drool, smeared with mud.
She could picture it as clearly as if it was actually happening.
He wouldn’t be smiling at her in that impudent way, either, the jack-a-napes. She really should go, but it would be too undignified to scramble around him like some ninny of a girl. His had been the offense. It was for him to make reparations, not for her to run away. He certainly wouldn’t hurt her—not if he was a guest of the Somercotes—and it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her with such open admiration. With such clear intent.
Had a man such as this one ever looked at her? It seemed unlikely. He was magnificent. Tall, with an odd cast to his features that put her strongly in mind of the foreign princes and Italian counts who littered the pages of the popular novels. Especially his eyes.
Those were not English eyes.
Gabriel smiled down at his nymph. She was undoubtedly another early arrival.
George would skin him alive if she caught him trifling with any of her friends, but he couldn’t resist the challenge in the lady’s snapping eyes. Anger brought out the best in some women. Firing the blood, raising a flush beneath their delicate skin, making their bosom rise and fall with entrancing rapidity. Yes. Angry, proud, and undeniably a wee bit intrigued.
He knew the signs.
Delicate lace mitts obscured her hands, but no tell-tale flash of gold upon her ring finger warned him off.
Besides, what could a little flirtation hurt? Wasn’t this what country house parties were for? He swept her a bow, eyes locked with hers, his free hand held to his still smarting ribs in theatrical display.
‘She that makes me sin awards me pain.’
The lady cocked her head, sparrow-like. The corners of her lips betrayed her, quirking up into the slightest of smiles.
Oh yes, he had her.
She dropped him a rather frosty curtsy, barely more than a dip of the knees accompanied by the slightest inclination of her head. ‘Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy, and so sir, I shall show you none.’
Gabriel’s smile widened. Beautiful, well read, and witty? What were the odds? ‘And for this sin there is no remedy—much like the wound you’ve done me, my fair Daphne.’
Her brows drew together as she considered him, the winged shape flattening. She crossed her arms, breasts rising another degree like an incoming tide. She really did look familiar. Why couldn’t he remember? How could he have forgotten such a woman?
Gabriel took one small step to the right, placing himself between her and the courtyard’s only exit. Her gaze left his, darted over his shoulder and back again. His strategy hadn’t escaped her notice. Her moment of panic had dissipated, leaving her calm, and—he grinned again—condescending in a queenly way.
She stared him down, batting her eyes at him the way his cousin did when she thought him deliberately obtuse. ‘Tis a sin to flatter, sir, and you’d do well to remember your Greek; Apollo lost his nymph.’
Gabriel gave a bark of laughter, startling the thrushes in the hedge into flight. They escaped in a loud, chattering swarm, spiraling upwards and away.
‘The sun god must have been a bit slow, but we were quoting Shakespeare, not the classics, let us return to whence we came…’ He smiled his most beguiling smile, the one he used to set young ladies fluttering, to scandalize dowagers. The one that always made his cousin rap him with her fan. He took a deliberate step towards the lady in the monstrous hat. She held her ground, merely raking her glance up and down him appraisingly. ‘Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.’
‘Man-like it is to fall into sin, Fiend-like to dwell therein.’
‘That’s not Shakespeare.’ His smile widened. It was beyond his control. He was going to have to kiss her. There was simply no help for it. ‘You’re wandering afield again.’
‘It’s from a German poet, but apt all the same.’
‘Now, now. Let’s stick to our parameters…’ He took another step towards her, getting within arms-length. ‘Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry.’
‘The sin I carry?’ One arched brow rose. ‘I thought we were speaking of your sin, sir?’
‘My sin? Love is my sin.’
She snorted.
There was no other word for it. It wasn’t a giggle; couldn’t even vaguely be construed a titter. It was a snort, and a rather derisive one at that. Gabriel closed the last step between them, casting his hat aside as he did so. His hands closed on crisply glazed cotton, and for the second time that day, he pulled her into his arms.
He leaned in, ducking his head beneath the brim of her hat, so close her curls tickled his face, fine hairs catching in the slight burr of his cheek. ‘Shall we continue in this sin?’
‘Now who’s wandering?’ One side of her mouth crinkled upwards. A dimple winked in her cheek, un-abashed and unintimidated. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, that’s biblical. Better to have said, but sin had his reward.’
Mirth flooded through him, warming him from the inside out, making him want to taste her even more. He tipped back her hat. ‘Shall I wander further? To sin in secret is no sin at all.’
He lowered his head and captured her lips with his own. He kissed her softly, teasingly. Testing the waters. Giving her every chance to pull away, to slap him…to kiss him back.
She did none of them. She just stood there, cool and stiff as the laurel tree Apollo’s nymph had become.
After a moment she sighed, ennui oozing from every pore, hands trapped limply against his chest. If only he could pretend such disaffection. She was soft and rounded in all the right places. High breasts full above a small waist, what he was sure would prove to be a perfectly heart-shaped bottom hidden beneath layers of petticoats held out by pads. She smelt ever so faintly of soap and rose water. Not the musky ambergris that opera dancers and paphians always seemed to be drenched in, but something that spoke of sunlight, of practicality…of virtue.
He ran the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, trying to provoke a response. No lady had a right to look as she did and smell of virtue. She pressed closer, sliding her arms around his neck, her body softening against his in unmistakable capitulation. He chuckled and adjusted his grip, sliding one hand down to press her hips against his.
With a deceptive twist of her body she stomped down on his instep, hard enough to make his eyes water.
He yelped and let go of her. She stepped back, her gaze scathing, her lips curled into a mocking little smile. She raised her chin another notch, and looking altogether pleased with herself, swept past him as composed as a dowager at court.
She didn’t even have the decency to hurry.
Praise for Isobel’s Books
‘That trifecta of historical research, clever setting, and wholly memorable characters…is some powerful juju’.
–Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
‘Carr is sure to balance her characters’ roguish antics with genuine heart, making the double love story a delightful and erotic page-turner.’
–Publisher’s Weekly (starred review)
‘For her third in the League of the Second Sons, Carr delivers not one, but two love stories that will charm and titillate readers.’
–RT Book Reviews
‘This book is worth every cent . . . Seriously, this is one amazing debut.’
–Book Hounds
‘With her witty dialogue and tender moments, Carr draws readers into her marriage of convenience plotline that delves into what happens when the couple falls in love and then struggles to build a strong marriage against the odds. It’s a lesson all can savor.’
–RT Book Reviews
‘The charact
ers were fantastic and the passion was sizzling. I was entertained from beginning to end, hardly knowing what to expect in the next chapter. Isobel Carr has certainly left her mark on the historical romance genre with this fabulous series . . . I look forward to her future works!’
–The Romance Reviews
‘Carr is a born storyteller. She enriches her sensual tale with colorful details, suspense, a treasure hunt, and charming, delightful characters . . . The fast pace and added humor will have readers eagerly awaiting the next novel in the League of Second Sons series.’
–RT Book Reviews
‘Carr debuts with a novel that’s part erotic romance and party country house party romp—a unique combination that will keep readers intrigued. Part of the appeal is Carr’s ability to create likable characters as well as spicy love scenes tinged with rough sex and tenderness. She’s definitely on her way to enticing readers who adore Lisa Kleypas, Pamela Britton and Katherine O’Neal.’
–RT Book Reviews (KISS Award)
‘Carr’s lusty, emotional second romance perfectly depicts the Georgian era in all its naughty glory—with house parties, races, matchmaking, gossip rags and duels. This author is on her way to stardom.’
–RT Book Reviews (KISS Award)
Books by Isobel
No Rules for Rogues
Sin Incarnate (Book 1)
Scandal Incarnate (Book 2)
Temptation Incarnate (Novelette)
Desire Incarnate (Book 3)—TBA
The League of Second Sons
Ripe for Pleasure (Book 1)
Ripe for Scandal (Book 2)
Ripe for Seduction (Book 3)
Other Work
Three Courtesans (Christmas Short Story)
Harriet: A Regency Paper Doll (Free)
About the Author
Isobel grew up in the lively historical re-enacting community of Northern California. She’s made and worn the clothes of people from Ancient Rome up to the Roaring 1920s. She’s cooked and eaten their food. She also grew up around numerous writers of historical fiction and science fiction and fantasy (it was impossible not to as a child of the 70s in the Society for Creative Anachronism), so being a writer seemed a perfectly normal career choice. She currently lives in Oakland, CA, with a 250lb English Mastiff named Mycroft and a coop full of chickens named after Georgette Heyer characters. You can find out more about Isobel and her books at isobelcarr.com.
Author’s Note
The late 1780s is a period which fascinates me. It’s tumultuous on multiple fronts, multiple continents, in ways both micro and macro. 1787 marks a major milestone for the still fledgling United States: the signing of the Constitution. Uranus, Oberon, and Titan are discovered by Herschel. Mozart’s Don Giovanni is performed for the first time. In 1788, England’s George III experiences his first bout of madness, ushering in the Regency crisis which will last for the next twenty-plus years. London’s Daily Universal Register becomes the Times. The first convicts are transported from Britain to Australia, and Sydney is founded. 1789 marks the beginning of the Revolution in France, and the world will never be the same. The guillotine is invented. Mrs Radcliffe’s first horror novel, The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne, is published. Fashion is also undergoing a major transformation, the likes of which will not be seen again until the flappers burst onto the scene more than one hundred years later. Hoops have been discarded in favour of false rumps, and soon even those will be gone as the fashion turns towards a Greek ideal. Vigée Le Brun has already painted the scandalous portrait of Marie Antoinette in her Robe à la Reine and the fashion has taken England by storm. The Duke of Devonshire is openly living with his wife and his mistress (the duchess’s best friend). The young Prince of Wales is illegally married to the Catholic Mrs Fitzherbert, and has likely already sired an illegitimate son. The Whigs and Tories are locked in combat in Parliament, each marshalled behind their leaders, Charles Fox and his former protégé, William Pitt.
It is this world that I have tried to give you a glimpse into—a world poised on the brink of almost unimaginable change. I hope you have enjoyed the journey, and I hope you’ll join me for many, many more. For information about me and my upcoming releases please visit me on my website: isobelcarr.com.
Acknowledgements
There are so many people to thank beyond those in my dedication: Lisa, who gave me my first romance novel. Nance, who introduced me to Georgette Heyer. Jess, who challenged me to write a romance in the first place (and illustrated the cover for the re-release). Meghan, who copyedited my dyslexic ramblings. Scott, master of obscure facts. Issa, god of comfort food. Kristie and Amie, who supported me in this, as in all things. Cathie, who got me hooked on the eighteenth century. Siobhan, who doesn’t mind doing dishes and feeding my dog. The members of the San Francisco Bay Area RWA chapter, especially Monica, Jami, Nyree, and Doreen. The members of the Beau Monde RWA chapter, who shared their knowledge and resources so generously. The Wild Cards (my fellow 2005 Golden Heart finalists) for their endless support and unflagging optimism!). Sasha, who poked me until I finally got this re-release done. Carolyn and Erica who helped me with actually getting the dang thing published. Thanks gang, I couldn’t have done it without all of you.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely accidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Isobel Carr (SIN INCARNATE)
Kindle Edition
ISBN: 978-1-940160-01-6
Cover illustration and design © 2020 by Jessica T. Cohen
Sin Incarnate was originally published as Lord Sin Copyright © 2007 by Kalen Hughes ISBN: 978-0-821781-49-4
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
