A Little Bit Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  “Thank you. I shall accept your kind offer, my lord,” she said a trifle nervously.

  He nodded. “I do, however, have a small request. I can’t ride with my back to the driver. The swaying of the carriage does disgraceful things to my stomach. Would you mind if we switched seats?”

  “Of course. We would not want you to disgrace yourself.” Eleanor smiled.

  He frowned. “Do you find my discomfort amusing, Lady Eleanor?”

  “Not at all. I was just thinking how much fun you must be on a long journey.”

  He grimaced. “A carriage is necessary for certain Town events, but I travel almost exclusively on my horse and avoid the inside of a coach whenever possible.”

  Eleanor glanced around the luxurious interior. “Then why own such a well-turned-out vehicle?”

  “The coach is part of an inheritance from my grandmother’s estate.”

  “Oh. I am sorry for your loss. Was it recent?”

  “Last month.” He cleared his throat. “I miss her very much.”

  The vulnerable emotion in his voice twisted her heart. It was never easy losing someone you loved. She wished she could say something to ease his sadness, to cushion his pain, but she knew words would offer little relief.

  Eleanor stood, crouching inside the coach. She moved to her right, in order to allow the viscount room to maneuver as they exchanged places. He quickly scrambled to the other side. Eleanor waited until he was settled before attempting to sit down herself, but the coach suddenly lurched forward.

  She screeched in alarm, thrusting her hand blindly forward. It landed directly above the viscount’s head and she braced herself there, trying desperately to stay on her feet.

  His hands moved up immediately, clasping her firmly around her waist. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I … uhm …” Eleanor struggled to let the words out. The feel of his strong fingers holding her so possessively sent a delicious, disturbing tingle throughout her body.

  He drew her closer and her hand slipped, landing squarely on the center of his chest. She looked down and found him watching her. Their gazes locked, their faces close enough for her to see the dark spikes of his lashes. Surprisingly long, full lashes that framed the most intense eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were gazing very directly into her own.

  The air drained from Eleanor’s lungs. She always thought him a handsome man. He was all sleek, strong male, the embodiment of every wicked dream she had ever had. Yet it was more than his physical beauty that touched her, called to her. It was that unspoken promise, the sleepy sensuality in his eyes, the hint of a wicked, knowing grin that told her in no uncertain terms he would willingly fulfill her secret dreams of forbidden sensual delight.

  For a split second Eleanor felt gloriously alive. She allowed the heat of his gaze to invade her senses, allowed the sharp excitement churning deep inside to spiral upward. It was as though everything else around her had fallen away and there were only the two of them trapped together in this moment.

  They remained perfectly still for one additional instant and then she came back to herself, back to the reality of who she was, and more important, who he was and the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

  He was a handsome rake, doing what men of his ilk always did, even with plain creatures like herself. Abruptly she pushed away, leveraging herself against his solid chest. He released an oomph of surprise and let go of her waist.

  Legs trembling, Eleanor scrambled backward and fell haphazardly into her seat. The strength of her attraction left her feeling flustered and confused. “There, is that better, my lord?”

  His brow furrowed into a frown. “Better than what?”

  “Better than tossing up your accounts in the coach. Or rather all over me.” She smiled brightly, willing herself not to reveal any of her inner turmoil, knowing she must look the fool, yet not caring. An awkward conversation was far preferable to what had just happened.

  He stared at her, his eyes sharp with awareness. The light from the street lamps illuminated one side of his face, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. The sight made her mind grow hazy. She shivered, uncertain why.

  They rode the short distance to the supper party in silence and Eleanor was glad. The quiet gave her time to compose herself, time to push aside her ridiculous thoughts. Lord Benton was an accomplished rake; his sensual stares meant nothing. For him, it was as natural as breathing.

  Time and again Eleanor had cautioned Bianca against losing her head when she was around him. With a wry smile, Eleanor admitted she would be wise indeed to heed her own very good advice.

  Chapter 9

  Two nights later Eleanor stood on the edge of the Hartgroves’ dance floor and scanned the crowded ballroom. As with so many other balls, the space was packed so tightly it was difficult to see who was here. Suddenly Bianca whirled by, a bright smile on her face. She was partnered by Sir Reginald Black, a pleasant-looking young man with an outwardly kind disposition.

  He had been paying particular attention to Bianca all evening, to the consternation of Lord Waverly, who hovered nearby. Eleanor reminded herself she needed to learn more about Lord Waverly’s, and now, Sir Reginald’s, situations. She could not relax her vigilance until Bianca was safely married to a worthy man.

  But at this moment it was not her sister Eleanor’s eyes so diligently sought to locate. It was Viscount Benton.

  Ever since their carriage ride from the theatre, Eleanor had not been able to keep him from her mind. She had been vastly disappointed when Benton had not made an appearance at the card party last night and even more dejected that he was not riding in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour this afternoon.

  No additional bouquets of flowers had been delivered, forcing her to wonder if her suspicion that the viscount had sent the white roses was incorrect. But if not him, then who?

  Eleanor had taken extra care with her appearance tonight, wearing a daring gown of gold silk that showcased a fair portion of her bosom. Her hair was arranged in a fashionable upsweep, and pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace that belonged to her mother adorned her ears and throat.

  She had secretly been hoping to dance with the viscount this evening, perhaps even be so bold as to try a waltz. But her preparations and anticipation were all for naught. After searching the ballroom, the card room, the refreshment area, and the terrace, she was forced to a most disappointing conclusion. Lord Benton was not here.

  Eleanor sighed, trying to shake off her foolishness. I’m tired, and this exhaustion has brought on a wave of unfamiliar emotions. ‘Tis past time I let go of this morbid fascination I’ve developed for him. His initial interest in Bianca is gone, along with any excuse I have for being in his company.

  After assuring herself that Bianca was contentedly occupied on the dance floor, Eleanor made her way out of the ballroom. She roamed aimlessly down a corridor, turned, then followed the next one to the end. Her mind was so preoccupied it took her a few moments to realize she had wandered far from the party. The sounds of the ballroom were barely audible as she turned another corner and paused, trying to get her bearings.

  Knowing she needed to retrace her steps, Eleanor whirled around. She took a single step, then heard a noise from inside the room in front of her. The door was ajar. Curious, she leaned forward and peered into the room. The interior was all shadows, the only light a fire burning in the hearth.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. As she scanned the room, she saw the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves crammed with leather matched spines. Impressed by the sheer number of volumes in the library, Eleanor stepped through the doorway to further investigate and suddenly realized the room was occupied. Standing near the long windows was the lone figure of a gentleman.

  “Lady Eleanor, is that you?”

  Dear God, it was Benton! “Good evening, my lord.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You look positively shocked to see me. I can assure you t
hat I am not a gate-crasher. I was invited to the ball.”

  Of course she was surprised to see him! She had been eagerly searching ever since she arrived, expecting him to be in the middle of all the festivities, not hiding out by himself. But she certainly couldn’t admit that to him.

  Eleanor’s heart started fluttering. “‘Tis a relief knowing I won’t have to report you to our hosts as an unwelcome guest. But you must own I am owed a bit of shock at finding you here. This is, after all, a library.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I am illiterate?”

  “Not at all, though I would hardly classify you as bookish. Truthfully, it boggles my mind to consider the sort of reading material you prefer.”

  “Ah, yes, wicked, scandalous tomes dominated by bawdy language and, uhm, mature situations.” A lighthearted expression sketched over his face. “Though I do draw the line at pictures.”

  “Pictures?” she asked, strolling farther into the room. “Such as those put forth in a children’s story?”

  He leaned indolently against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest, a knowing smile upon his lips. “There is nothing at all childish about the illustrations to which I refer.”

  Eleanor’s brow furrowed as she pondered what could be so risqué about an illustration. “I’ve never seen such a book.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Eleanor frowned, instinctively knowing he was referring to something scandalous, yet having no idea what he meant. Deliberately keeping her gaze from straying to him, she cast her eyes along the shelves.

  “‘Tis a most eclectic collection,” she commented. “Everything from agriculture to classic tomes in numerous languages along with recent, popular novels. Very impressive.”

  He strode slowly toward her, tilting his head as he scanned the same shelf. “French, Latin, Greek. Are you saying you can read all three?”

  She nodded. “Along with a smattering of Italian. I suppose in your eyes that qualifies me as a bluestocking,” she said, referencing that derogatory term.

  “I never liked that label. It’s demeaning.” He considered her, his stare assessing. “I have always found intelligent women far more interesting. And entertaining.”

  “Yet society tells us they must strive to hide the quickness of their minds.”

  “Oh, hang society.” He stopped before her, only inches away. “An intelligent woman’s point of view is always valuable. Not always agreed with, yet valuable nonetheless. ‘Tis the mark of a dim-witted, insecure man who refuses to admit it.”

  She fell silent, marveling at his comment. “‘Tis good to know that I need not censure my opinion with you.”

  “Egad, I hadn’t realized you had been holding your tongue.” His lips curled. “I fairly tremble wondering what you will say to me now that we have established such open communication.”

  Eleanor tried to hold back her blush. She had been brutally frank with him at times, especially regarding her sister. “I shall endeavor to be circumspect, my lord.”

  “Sebastian.” He reached out and twirled a wisp of hair slowly around his finger. “I’d very much like for you to call me Sebastian. And I shall call you Eleanor.”

  He stood improperly close. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of his pleasant cologne. “There is something quite indescribable about you, Eleanor. I find myself thinking of you at odd times of the day. Why is that, do you suppose?”

  She lowered her head, warmed by the idea that she had also been on his mind. Warmed, yet not entirely convinced. Handsome rogues like him did not seek out plain, older spinsters like her. And yet, his breathing seemed as unsteady as hers.

  Sebastian leaned toward her, placing one hand on her waist and drawing her against his chest. His other hand cradled the back of her head, forcing her chin up. Gazing into his eyes, she realized he was going to kiss her.

  All her insides turned to mush.

  She was not a young, inexperienced girl. She had shared many a passionate kiss with John Tanner. But this was different. This man did not have a deep affection for her. Yet there was no denying the spell he had woven over her, the pull of sensual delight she felt whenever he was near.

  A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through Eleanor. Being in Sebastian’s arms made her feel like someone she wasn’t—daring, almost wicked.

  And she liked it.

  A half smile played on his full, sensual lips. “I am going to kiss you now, Eleanor.”

  Despite her curiosity, her first instinct was to pull away. The library was secluded, yet not impossible to find. Anyone could wander in, just as she had done. The repercussions of being caught bordered on scandal, yet more important, it would be a bad example to Bianca if she were discovered in such a compromising situation.

  He must have sensed her reluctance. His fingers tightened in her hair to keep her in place at the same time his hand slid from her waist to the small of her back. Eleanor shivered with anticipation. It had been a very long time since she had felt the press of a man’s lips against her own.

  She felt her body tighten, her gaze roving over his face. His expression told her the truth—he was indeed about to kiss her. She went so still she briefly forgot to breathe. But then she allowed her proper, priggish objections to vanish, gave herself permission to enjoy whatever was to come. Her heart skipped in anticipation, certain that his kiss would be as possessive and hungry as the intense gleam darkening his eyes.

  Yet when it finally came, the initial touch of his lips upon hers was sweet and tender. No grasping, no crushing, no plundering. She parted her lips at that sweetness, at the promise of something more than passion.

  Feather light, he ran his tongue across the seam of her lips and teeth, then slipped it farther into her mouth. The heat of it radiated through her, taking her breath away, jolting her to her very core. Though they were indoors, the stars spun over her head as she clung to his warmth, savoring every taste, every touch.

  “Eleanor.” Her name fell from his lips in a liquid caress. He trailed his mouth across her cheek to the curve of her throat. The tender, whisper-soft kisses set her skin ablaze. Senses reeling, all thoughts of propriety disappeared like a wisp of smoke. She was aware of nothing but him and a need inside herself that was growing more intense by the minute.

  His hand swept down to the swell of her hip and she instinctively pushed herself forward, giving her hunger free rein. His mouth tasted divine. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she felt the lower half of his body, large and stiff, pressing against her stomach.

  Because of me? she thought in amazement. I have the power to incite such a passionate reaction in a man so sophisticated, so worldly?

  She kissed him deeply one more time, then forced herself to break away, lift her head, and meet his gaze. There was molten fire in his eyes and she shuddered at the evidence of his desire for her. Remarkable.

  The silence between them was charged with emotion and unspoken needs. Eleanor felt a flush of embarrassment. Not about the kiss, which had indeed been glorious, but because they now seemed unable to manage any conversation.

  “That was highly improper,” she whispered.

  “‘Twas only a kiss, Eleanor. And not, I believe, your first.”

  She blushed. He casually touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, sending another shudder of desire through her still heated body. “True, it was not my first kiss, but unless you declare yourself to have honorable intentions, it should be the last one we share.”

  He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heart. “Why do you assume my intentions are not honorable?”

  “I have heard far too many comments on your opinion of marriage,” she answered.

  His brow quirked. “That does not mean I shall never marry.”

  “True, yet the facts cannot be denied. Forty is the age I believe you have set for yourself to take a wife. Unless you have one secreted away at your count
ry estate?”

  He laughed. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, liked the way his face appeared more boyish and carefree. Goodness, he was a handsome devil.

  “No, there is no wife,” he said, his gaze sweeping pointedly over her. “Not yet, at least. Though it could certainly happen well before I reach forty, if I find the right woman.”

  A swift current of excitement raced through her, but Eleanor tamped down her delight. He could not possibly mean what he was implying.

  “Ha! I vow the betting book at White’s is filled with wagers as to the length of your bachelorhood.”

  “It is indeed. I confess to placing a few of them myself. Just to keep the lads guessing.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “While it is true that I have not yet discovered a compelling reason to marry, that does not mean I never will.”

  “For your title and property?” she asked, citing the usual reasons. Reasons that inexplicably made her feel a sad stab of regret.

  “I hardly find those reasons compelling. Really, Eleanor, shouldn’t there be more to marriage?”

  “Well, there are kisses,” she said airily.

  His eyes sensually moved down the length of her body. “Kisses are merely the beginning.”

  Eleanor felt her cheeks flush as a shudder of pure desire shot through her body. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Is that what you want?” His tone was light and teasing, yet she clearly heard the thread of determination beneath it. Why was he so interested in her? Was she merely a challenge to him? Or was there more involved?

  “That is preposterous,” she lied, knowing she should pull herself free from his arms and return to the ball, retreating as quickly as her feet could go.

  He took her hands in his and the yearning in his eyes made her catch her breath. “I promise you that knowing someone in the biblical sense is an extraordinary occurrence, yet a real relationship between a man and a woman encompasses far more.”