Soul of Sin (Scandalous Scions Book 2)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Yes, that must be it,” Anna said in agreement.

  Rhys said nothing. He rarely did. His eyes, though, were warmly appreciative. He slid his arm around his wife’s waist and Anna rested her hand over his.

  “Wraps, coats, hats and gloves, all accounted for,” Vaughn said, coming back to join them. “Let’s go in and see what the décor is to be, this year.”

  Finally, Natasha thought, threading her dance card over her wrist.

  * * * * *

  The dancing was as delightful as ever. Natasha did not lack partners. Even the poor ones who stepped on her toes or hems did not spoil her mood. She wondered why she had ever stopped dancing. There was nothing sinful about dancing, even with near-strangers, and it was such fun!

  From time to time during the evening, she found herself looking up at the stairs that led to the entrance to the grand hall. Many years ago, she had first spotted Seth on those stairs and her entire life had changed.

  There were just as many observers clinging to the balustrades tonight as there had been that night, while dancers climbed up and down the stairs behind them. None of them were handsome strangers with earrings, though.

  She could feel her spirits drooping at the reminder and would force her attention back to the steps and the rhythm of the dance. Each time, the mood passed.

  Natasha had not heard of one of the dances before. It was called a flirtatious polka and there was no space next to it on her dance card for a partner to write their name.

  Because she had no partner for the dance and because it was new to her, Natasha considered the dance a good opportunity to recover her breath and watch for a while, even though she normally loved the spinning and speed of polkas.

  Vaughn, though, had a different idea. He held out his elbow. “Come, lady ‘tasha.”

  “I do not know this dance.”

  “A simple polka? Of course you do.”

  “Elisa—”

  “Has another partner.” He pulled her onto the dance floor and put his hand on her waist. His eye closed in a quick wink. “There is an element to this you may like.”

  The music began. Vaughn spun her into the first turn and Natasha had no time to talk. Polkas were fast and fun yet she had to concentrate on her steps.

  The first movement was nearly complete when Vaughn said warningly, “…and here we go.” He spun her and actually let go of her hand.

  Natasha drew in a sharp breath, startled.

  Another hand landed on her waist, securing her. Her other hand was captured and she was steadied. Natasha looked into Rhys’ eyes. He laughed. “You’ve never danced a flirtation, have you, dear sister?” He spun her into the second movement.

  Natasha laughed, too. New dances were introduced each year, often just a simple variation on favorites. This was a delightful variation. Around the dance floor, men were spinning their partners into the waiting hands of the next dancer.

  The next partner was an Earl she knew only slightly, yet well enough to enjoy the short moment with him and banter, when she had the breath for it. He turned her into the dizzy movement that would send her into the next man’s arms.

  The next man was Raymond.

  Natasha’s breath evaporated. She nearly tripped and Raymond held her up. “You’re here!” he breathed. “I did not think you would be. You haven’t attended a ball for years.” He spun her around.

  Natasha couldn’t answer. She was too busy dealing with the flurry of thoughts and images in her mind. She had not expected Raymond would attend this ball any sooner than she would. He was still officially in mourning and would be until early September.

  His hand on her waist seemed heavy and hot, far more than any other partner tonight. In a few seconds this movement would end and she would be forced to move on.

  “Do you have any waltzes left?” Raymond asked quickly.

  “One,” she admitted.

  “Then I claim it,” he said, his voice low.

  He turned her into the spin and into the arms of the next partner.

  Natasha concentrated on smiling and chatting throughout the polka, barely focusing on what she was saying or the movement of her feet. The charm of the dance had dissipated. She waited for it to be over, because there would be an intermission right after it. Given the energetic speed of the dance, she understood why they had scheduled it for just before the pause.

  Her last partner was a man she knew only a little. The Duke of Urlingford had direct connections to the Royal Family, and lived a life far above those of the everyday peerage. He was a young man, recently come into his title. Privilege seemed to drip from him.

  Natasha was polite. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  He was a short man. Even so, his gaze turned downward. He was not looking at her face. “You are the Innesford widow, are you not?” His breath smelled of brandy. There was also a pungent smell of stale tobacco that caught at the back of her throat.

  Natasha had to turn herself, for his limp hand gave her no assistance. When she came back to face him, she said breathlessly; “I am Lady Innesford.”

  “You’re more comely than I expected.” His eyes, she saw, were bloodshot.

  The violins climbed up to the conclusion of the dance and finished with a quick flourish. The dancers grew still, and clapped wildly. The popularity of the dance was beyond dispute.

  The Duke dropped his hand from her waist. His heated gaze roamed over her. Natasha recognized that look. She had seen it on many other men before.

  She gave him a quick curtsey. “Your Grace.” Then she hurried away, toward the big doors where many of the attendees were streaming through, out onto the balconies for cool air and time to recover.

  Natasha found a spot next to the broad stone balustrade and leaned against it, breathing in the fresh air. Compared to the reek emanating from the Duke it was very sweet.

  A hand gripped her elbow and yanked her around. The duke glared at her. “I did not dismiss you,” he said, his voice low.

  Natasha swallowed. It was true that on formal occasions, one did not leave the presence of a duke or royalty until told they could go. A ball, though, was hardly a formal occasion. The waft of brandy warned her to speak carefully.

  “I am sorry, your Grace, for my discourtesy. I desperately needed to recover from the vigorous dancing. I was quite…dizzy.”

  If she had been dizzy, the dancing had not been the cause. The miasmic cigar stench was the more likely source. It was gripping her throat once more. She fought not to wrinkle her nose or gasp.

  There were too many people around them for this to be more than a heavy-handed flirtation and she’d had practice at deflecting men from such misjudgments before. It had been a long time since the last occasion, however.

  The Duke stepped closer. “Is it true what they say about widows?” he asked.

  Natasha swallowed. “What is it do they say, Your Grace?”

  “That you’re undersexed and hungry.”

  Natasha caught her breath as his hand gripped her breast and squeezed. She stomped on his foot, only she was wearing dancing slippers and he wore boots. Her foot slid off his protected arch harmlessly.

  “Mmm…luscious,” he said, his hand working.

  “Let go of me!” Her voice was sharp and high, and not by design. This had suddenly and shockingly grown completely out of hand. There were people standing right next to them! True, they had their backs turned as they spoke to their own companions, yet her exclamation made them start and turn to see what was happening in their midst.

  The Duke’s groping was insistent. Her dress ripped with a low snarling sound and she felt cool air bathe her flesh beneath.

  A big hand gripped the Duke’s shoulder and turned him. The Duke blinked and looked to see who was trying to interfere with his designs. The movement brought his chin right into the path of Raymond’s fist. The punch sounded hard and solid.

  The Duke’s head snapped back in the other direction and his eyes rolled up.

  Raymo
nd caught the Duke as he sagged and lowered him down to the flagstones and propped him against the balustrade, as everyone around them seemed to make a collective gasp and step back away from them.

  Raymond looked up at the nearest man. “Thorsby. Watch the Duke, will you? I must see to Lady Innesford.”

  “You hit the Duke!” Thorsby breathed, stunned.

  “He deserved it. He will remember none of it when he wakes,” Raymond said, getting to his feet. He stripped off his coat. “Tell him he passed out from the brandy. It smells as though he has drunk enough of it that the story will hold.”

  He turned to Natasha, his black eyes passing over her. “You are unhurt?” he asked and draped his coat around her shoulders.

  Natasha trembled. The suddenness and speed at which it had happened stunned her. “He…he…”

  “Her dress!” someone whispered, their tone horrified.

  Raymond pulled the coat together over her shoulders, hiding the ruins of her dress, and looked around the balcony. Then he bent to speak quietly. “The stairs down to the garden are just over there. I’ll take you there, rather than through the ballroom, then I’ll have one of our carriages brought around.”

  She nodded, deep relief circling through her. The spectacle she would make, walking through the ballroom in this condition, was more than she could bear.

  Raymond caught Thorsby’s arm. “You know the Marquess of Farleigh?”

  Thorsby nodded.

  “Would you find him for me and tell him what has happened? Tell him to bring the carriage around to the back of the garden. Then come back and take care of the Duke.”

  “Right-oh!” Thorsby hurried off.

  Raymond put his arm around her and moved her through the crowd on the balcony. They parted way, letting them through, watching them silently. The whispering started up behind them.

  Natasha’s trembling worsened. She had become the center of gossip once more.

  * * * * *

  It was quiet in the garden, with only the sound of crickets and the murmur from the ballroom above them. Light from the ballroom spilled upon the grass. Raymond led her under the trees, along the path to the gate at the back of the garden, and placed her on the bench inside the arbor that covered it.

  He sank onto the bench opposite her. The arbor was small, and his knees nearly met hers. He leaned forward. In the moonlight, the white sleeves of his shirt under the brocade vest glowed, even though the moon was already waning from the full.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asked softly.

  Her trembling was subsiding, which let her feel the ache in her breast. She brought her hand to her chest, resting it on the broadcloth of his coat. “My…” She cleared her throat.

  “How badly?” His voice grew harsher.

  “Perhaps only a bruise, that is all,” she said quickly. “Do not battle the Duke, Raymond. He was drunk, yes, but his family are too powerful to tangle with. Not over me.”

  “If not you, then who?” he asked. The hard note in his voice did not subside. “Men like him think they are allowed such abuses because no one calls them on it.”

  “That is true,” she said softly. “If that is your reason, Raymond, then I cannot gainsay it. However, I would rather not be just an excuse.”

  He shot to his feet and walked a tight circle on the path, pushing his hand through his dark hair. “You misunderstand me,” he said softly. He stepped back into the arbor and sank down in front of her, until he was looking at her directly. The silk and lace of her dress draped around his boots, yet he didn’t seem to notice. “I could have cheerfully killed him when I saw what he was doing to you, and hang the consequences.” He cupped her cheek. His hand was warm and large and a shiver rippled through her at his touch. “You are infinitely more important to me than a sodden duke of the realm.”

  Natasha breathed in every tiny impression of his hand against her. She may even have turned her face into it. Was that how it happened? She didn’t know. She only knew that they seemed to draw closer to each other.

  Her breath came more quickly as she realized what was about to happen.

  Raymond’s hand moved against her cheek. He slid it back, to hold her head, telling her exactly what he intended.

  “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice very low. “Tell me you don’t want this. I will not have you hate me, after.”

  “I won’t hate you,” she whispered. It was the truth.

  He groaned and kissed her.

  His lips were firm and tasted so sweet. His kiss was heady, stealing her breath and every thought in her mind. Her body came alive, every nerve crawling with desire. It had been so long! Oh, how she craved this…

  How she had craved Raymond’s touch.

  Confusion swamped her and Natasha gasped against his lips.

  Raymond let her go instantly. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly.

  “No, don’t apologize. I knew what you intended…” Something caught at her throat and squeezed and her eyes pricked with tears, making her vision swim. “It’s just that…you are the first man and that was the first kiss since…Seth…” She hung her head, misery swamping her. “I feel as if I have just betrayed him,” she whispered.

  Raymond made a rough sound and picked her up. He cradled her against him and rested her head on his shoulder. “That was my first kiss since Rose,” he said roughly. She could feel his voice rumbling against her. “It is sitting in my chest, making me feel sick and giddy at once,” he added.

  “Yes,” she said, gripping his waistcoat lapel. “Exactly that.” Hot tears, that made her eyes and her throat ache, dripped onto his shoulder.

  He soothed her silently. That was where Elisa and Anna found her barely a minute later. They swooped upon her, asking a dozen anxious questions.

  Raymond answered them. “Her dress is torn and she has bruises, but I suspect it was the shock of the moment that has upset her more. Natasha did nothing to justifying the attack. I saw it all.”

  The clop of horses and the hiss of carriage wheels on the cobbles beyond the gate alerted them to the arriving carriage. Elisa opened the gate and Raymond got to his feet, bringing Natasha with him.

  “Let’s take you home,” he told her.

  “Our home,” Elisa said firmly. “Natasha should not be alone tonight.”

  Chapter Seven

  Elisa closed the bedroom door softly. Natasha had finally fallen asleep, although for a long time she had laid silently, as shivers wracked her.

  Annalies touched Elisa’s shoulder, drawing her attention. Then she nodded behind Elisa.

  Elisa turned. Raymond was sitting in the upright chair against the passage wall, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was hunched forward, his arms on his knees, his heel tapping softly.

  Annalies held out his coat to him.

  “Is she asleep?” Raymond asked, getting to his feet. “Thank you, Aunt Anna.” He took the coat and draped it over his arm and tackled the sleeves, unrolling them.

  “Asleep, yes, although it took her simply ages,” Elisa said.

  “That is hardly a surprise,” Anna said softly.

  “Is she hurt?” he demanded.

  “Bruising, that is all,” Elisa assured him. She frowned, studying him. “Is there something between you and Natasha, Raymond?”

  He finished unrolling his sleeve then looked at her. “Why would you ask that?”

  “You saw everything that passed between the Duke and her. Were you watching her?”

  “I happened to be on the balcony, that is all. That dress of hers stands out, especially in moonlight. And she cried out, too.”

  “Oh dear,” Anna murmured.

  “When she screamed, I had to act.” He shrugged and slid the coat on and rearranged the collar. “Natasha is family. I should stand by and let her defend herself against that bastard?”

  “Raymond!” Elisa said, shocked. “He is the Duke of Urlingford. You cannot challenge him. He would ruin you. All of us.”

  “That is what Natasha
said,” Raymond replied, scowling.

  “Then listen to her if you will not take your mother’s advice,” Elisa shot back. “For now, it was a simple contretemps that can be passed off as a misunderstanding. If you confront the Duke, then it cannot be ignored.”

  Raymond met her gaze. His expression was flinty. “I have yet to hear a reason why I should do nothing more about this.”

  Anna squeezed Elisa’s elbow, and Elisa swallowed her protest and let Anna speak.

  “Raymond, you must see how this will look to others,” Anna said. “To the ton. You are the son of a friend of hers. You have no legal right to defend her.”

  “Is that what Rhys will say?” Raymond asked her.

  “I am sure of it. Do ask him yourself, though, Raymond,” Anna said, not unkindly.

  “Besides,” Elisa added quickly. “If you respond in any way, you will be keeping the gossip alive. Every day people talk about it is yet another day Natasha will be embarrassed to be seen by anyone.”

  Raymond hesitated for the first time and Elisa realized that was where he was vulnerable; Natasha herself.

  A tight band of worry squeezed Elisa’s chest. “What is Natasha to you, Raymond?” she said softly. “Is there more to this than shows?”

  Raymond was fussing with his coat sleeves, which looked odd without shirt cuffs beneath them. He finally looked at her. “What if there is?” he asked, his voice low.

  Elisa pressed her hand against her chest. “Please tell me you have crossed no line with her, that it is nothing more than…than simple…Oh, Raymond, tell me this is just a passing fancy. Please.”

  Surprise crossed his face. “You are afraid, Mother? You?”

  “Oh, you don’t know how dangerous it would be to become involved with someone like Natasha. The scandal…”

  Annalies patted her shoulder. “Natasha is a widow, Raymond. She is already notorious in certain circles, because of Seth’s past. If she were to take up with a younger man, it would be the end of her reputation. Yours would not survive, either, and both of you have children you must think of. Their futures depend on your social standing.”

  “Listen to her,” Elisa begged him. “Annalies has experienced this, too.”