Sinful Deeds (Cynfell Brothers Book 2)

by Holt, Samantha

  Up ahead, a blanket of fog appeared to be climbing up the tower bridge and coming off the water. Morning fog in London was something she was well used to and she knew soon it would reach the riverbank and then Dante would be lost to her. She quickened her pace.

  By the time she had made her way past the crowds, tall warehouse buildings rose up on one side while ships, sometimes three deep, crowded the riverside. Several barges chugged past, and she had to watch her step as ropes were coiled and wound about the cobbled path. Goods were carried on and off the ships, forcing her to stop or skirt around the men carrying them.

  But Dante remained in view, following the gentleman until they paused in front of a warehouse.

  Before she could reach him, several men blocked her path. Her heart skipped into her throat as she took note of their appearances. Scruffy, dirty, brutish sorts. She’d been in London long enough to know that not every poor person intended her harm, but she also recognised the glints in their eyes. She had once been robbed at knifepoint a few years ago, and they had the same sort of air about them. An air that said, we wants yer belongings, and we’re going to take them—by whatever means necessary.

  Had she been flexible enough, she may well have kicked herself. There she was, basking in her independence, practically boasting to her friends how the area was not nearly so bad and how it fed her artistic temperament and here she was being approached by four men who certainly intended her harm.

  The glint of a flick-knife made blood roar through her ears in great whooshing pulses.

  “Give us yer purse, miss,” the one with the knife said slowly while he approached.

  She hated to do it, but she’d have to. “Dante! Help!” Josephine backed away until the hard touch of the railings pressed against her.

  The men spun when they heard footsteps approach. She tried not to grin in triumph when Dante and the other gentleman ran up behind them. The men fled before they reached them but the other man shouted something about finding a bobby as he darted after them. Dante paused, his eyebrows lifted in surprise when he realised it was her.

  “Josephine?” He stepped forward and grabbed her arms while running his gaze up and down her. “Are you harmed?”

  “No, no, I am quite well.”

  “Did they frighten you?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “You shouldn’t be in this area. It’s known for thieves and pickpockets.”

  “I know it is but I—” What could she say? That she wanted to stop him from getting into trouble but somehow found herself deep in it instead? “What are you doing here? Tell me you are not doing something reckless.”

  “Reckless?” He released her arms and rubbed his forehead.

  Dash it all, why did he have to look so handsome? With a clean-shaven jaw, a tall hat, and an elegant jacket, he had lost his air of country gent and instead looked more refined than ever. She couldn’t say which she preferred, but he certainly managed to take her breath away. His gaze locked onto hers and she knew she had no chance of breathing now.

  “What could you possibly think I’m doing here?”

  She licked her lips and debated this. “I-I don’t really know. But I—”

  His top lip lifted in one corner, drawing attention to the full lines of them. Goodness, how she hungered to feel them on her skin again. If only this unbearable ache would leave her. She thought she had been doing quite admirably these past few days, but apparently setting eyes on him again sent her straight back to her lovesick, pathetic state.

  “Did you think perhaps I was here to keep an eye on you?”

  “Well, I—” That had been her second thought she supposed, but she wasn’t sure which was better to admit to.

  “I’ll admit working in the same area as you held appeal.”

  She stared at him for several breaths. “W-working?”

  His grin widened. “Yes, Jo-Jo, working. I am helping my brother with his coffee ventures. Paperwork and suchlike.” Dante waved a hand. “I cannot say I’ve quite grasped it all, but I’ve put in several full days already this week. It seems I have a knack for negotiations.”

  Josephine couldn’t help but smile. Negotiations, of course. Dante could probably charm all the shipping merchants into bringing the produce in for free if he tried hard enough.

  He gripped her hands suddenly, and tingles raced up and down her arms. Had she been expecting the touch she might not have flinched, but she hadn’t been at all prepared.

  “You’re shaking. Did you have an awful fright?”

  The concern in his eyes almost had her unravelling. Independence was all well and good until you needed someone. She almost hadn’t realised she’d been missing his company. For all his faults, the times when he was actually around, he really did show her the upmost care.

  “I am well, I promise.”

  Dante glanced around. “Mr Bellamy seems to have decided to chase down the scoundrels himself by the looks of it. Why do you not come into the office and have a sweet cup of tea?”

  No would have been the right answer. Turning around and heading home would have been the correct action. Instead, she nodded and allowed him to escort her into one of the warehouses. Filled with boxes and trolleys for transporting them, the tall building made her feel vulnerable and small. Or was that Dante? Her legs certainly felt wobbly and little like a newborn foal’s as she followed him up a set of wooden stairs to a small office.

  The scent of coffee and sawdust hung in the air but somehow Dante’s cologne reached her over it. It was the same one he always wore—Florida Water—and the familiar scent eased her hammering heart.

  He bade her to sit down, and she did so, unable to protest. She stared around at the sheaths of paper and the dim light of the office space. Two desks occupied it while a large bookcase dominated the rear wall. Long windows let in some light, but the fog had indeed rolled in, diminishing their effect.

  Josephine tried to reconcile this environment and the image of Dante standing in it. Had he really said he was working? But why? He didn’t have the wealth of his brother, the marquess, but the estate was rich indeed and had always provided well for the brothers—all seven of them.

  Dante stepped outside of the office for a moment and bellowed down to someone for tea. She didn’t catch their answer, but he strode back inside so she assumed tea was coming. At present, the warmth and sugar would be most welcome. She needed to find her bearings. Was it simply that the men had given her quite the fright or was it being confronted by Dante and all these changes that was making her feel weak and woolly-headed?

  He sat opposite her and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He grasped her hands and rubbed them between his. The welcome warmth of his fingers made her sigh.

  “Did it bring back memories?”

  She stared at him for a moment. Memories of what? Him touching her? Him stroking his fingers all over her skin and pressing them into her heat until she writhed and begged for more? She gave herself a mental shake. No, of course that wasn’t what he meant.

  “You mean the other mugging?”

  “Yes.”

  “No—I mean—a little, I suppose, but it all happened so quickly I didn’t have much time to be scared.”

  “Thank the Lord I was there, though you should not have been in the area in the first place.” He chucked a finger under her chin. “Don’t walk around here unaccompanied again,” he commanded.

  Josephine nodded numbly. She should rebel. She should tell him that he couldn’t command her anymore, that he had no say in her life. But he was right. There was no sense in being independent and headstrong when it put one’s life in danger.

  A young man—no more than six and ten years of age—entered with a tray of tea. He placed it down on the empty desk. “Will there by anything else, milord?”

  “No, thank you, Will.”

  The boy doffed his cap and retreated while Dante added sugar and poured in the tea. He passed over the slightly chipped china cup, a
nd she clutched it in both hands while inhaling the warm scent.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have any fine china here.”

  Goodness, he almost sounded like a working man. What was going on?

  “Drink your tea, then I’ll escort you home.”

  “Thank you,” she managed weakly. While she sipped the almost scalding liquid, grateful for how it restored her senses and soothed her dry throat, she eyed some of the papers nearby. She recognised the names of several shipping companies. “Have you been working here long?”

  “Only three days. Julian has gone into the coffee business—you may recall me mentioning it.”

  She nodded. It was how Julian had met his wife. Josephine remembered Dante declaring his brother must be a sadistic bastard to go through a fourth marriage. She never really understood Dante’s aversion to marriage. Julian’s other marriages had ended because of awful luck and horrible circumstances. She knew his parent’s marriage was not so pleasant...but really, was that enough to make a man hate the idea so much?

  “And you are assisting him?”

  “Yes.” He snatched the bundle of papers near her arm. “At the moment, we have an arrangement with Viola’s father, but we’re still negotiating with the shipping companies. Julian isn’t the only man interested in coffee but some aren’t as savvy as my brother. Several hoped they could drive up the price on him and he wouldn’t notice.”

  “I suppose they didn’t wager on dealing with you.”

  Dante released a wry smile. “I’d wager none thought dealing with me would be any harder than with my brother. I’m not sure I understood precisely what I was doing, but so far I have two very firm and competitive offers to look over.” Josephine couldn’t help laughing. He looked a little affronted. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “That you would land on your feet in the very first job you’ve ever done? No, not at all. It is very like you.” She took a lengthy sip of tea in case her smile offended him further. She didn’t want to diminish this accomplishment he seemed so proud of. Dante had never really had much of which to feel proud, she guessed. “And you’re enjoying being a working man?”

  “I am not wholly changed.” He lifted both eyebrows in a manner that told her his dark and devilish side would never vanish under the pressure of hard work. “But I am enjoying feeling useful, I shall admit that much.”

  Finishing her tea, she placed the cup and saucer back on the tray and tried not to marvel at the change in him. To have seen him only a few weeks ago, utterly foxed from too much alcohol to this. Why she could even consider—No, he hadn’t changed that much. And had she not declared she wouldn’t want him to change? Not for her at least. She had always enjoyed his fun side, his outrageous behaviour. It allowed her to let loose and be someone other than the sweet Mrs Josephine Beaumont.

  Was this part of some scheme to get her back?

  A burst of excitement threatened to engulf her chest. As much as her pride loved the idea of him going to such measures, she must not fall foul of it. That would be a foolish thing indeed.

  “Are you ready to head home now?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  He offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. In spite of wearing gloves, a warm prickle danced about her fingers. They stood in front of each other for endless moments while he stroked his fingers over her digits—up and down, up and down. The twinkle in his eye told her that the change had only been minor. The old Dante resided behind the business-like attire. She wavered, feeling like a small boat caught in the current, powerless to do anything but follow it. He needed only to tug lightly on her fingers to draw her close.

  They ended up body to body, chest to chest. He pressed a curl behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her cheek. He gazed down at her with all the adoration of a man on his wedding day. It should have been enough to make her break away.

  It wasn’t.

  All she could do was remember how their bodies had once moved together. How strong his arms had been around her. How he had never failed to give her the most pleasurable moments of her life.

  He sighed. “Why must you deny me?”

  Was she denying him? Considering they were as close as two people could come with clothes on, she wasn’t so sure. And she did not know how to answer. Her mind reasoned that she must deny him. It wasn’t fair to either of them to give into the pull that would likely forever exist between them. Her heart, however, throbbed in a painful reminder that she might never stop loving him.

  After suffering so long without his touch, she felt like a starved woman. She craved him, desired him, loved him. It was quite the pickle to be in and every bold notion of independence seemed to have withered away.

  Dante kissed her. A swift, sharp peck on the lips. She hadn’t been expecting that. Where was the passionate claiming of her mouth? He did it again, pressing hard before dropping back. The balloon of disappointment in her chest threatened to swallow her.

  Josephine swiped her hands down her skirts in an unladylike gesture and tried to gather her wits.

  “Time to return home,” he declared, offering her his arm.

  If he really was toying with her, he was doing a fine job of it. She was more confused than ever.

  Chapter Seven

  Not taking things further with Josephine had been the hardest thing Dante had ever done. The desire to throw up her skirts and plunge his fingers deep into her to remind her of how good they were still fired through his veins.

  Her fingers rested lightly on his forearm as he guided her home. He could only blame the moment of madness—not taking her then and there that was, rather than the kiss itself—on his resolution to prove to her they could have a respectable relationship without marriage. She didn’t need to feel like a mistress, there for his pleasure and nothing else. The truth was, even while their desire burned bright, she had always been more than a mistress to him. They had been friends, confidantes, and lastly, lovers. It was only in the recent months had he not had time to see her for more than a quick bedding.

  He scowled at himself. Why was that exactly? It was heading into summer so his social life inevitably became busier. But still...

  He really had been quite an ass.

  When they arrived at her house, he slowed his pace. A tall gentleman stood at her door. He cut an elegant figure with buff trousers and a long jacket.

  “Are you expecting a visitor?” he asked lightly.

  “Oh, it’s Robbie.”

  The way her voice trilled with excitement set him on edge. He gritted his teeth and talked himself out of clamping her arm firmly to his side or turning around and dragging her back to the office so he could do what he really wanted to do with her.

  He certainly didn’t want to see Robbie, whoever the heck he was.

  This Robbie turned when he spotted them and gave Josephine a wave. Dante loathed the man on sight. Who did he think he was, waiting at Josephine’s door, looking dapper and handsome? The man drew off his hat and pushed his hands through sandy hair. Every part of him said refined and elegant.

  Respectable.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d catch you,” he said to Josephine. “I was about to take a stroll to see if you were gathering inspiration.”

  She tilted her head in a manner that was all too charming. The sandy-haired fellow’s eyes seem to glint in appreciation. Dante had to draw in a long, calming breath. It was bad enough that Josephine had nearly become the victim of a mugging but now this...

  Who was this chap?

  “Mr Allen, this is Lord Dante Cynfell.”

  Mr Allen, Mr Allen... now why did that...? Oh yes, something to do with art. Damn it. Not only was he handsome and affable, but was knowledgeable about art. How was Dante meant to compete with that?

  “Dante, this is Mr Robert Allen. He works at the National Gallery.”

  “I just came by to see how the latest masterpiece was coming along,” Mr Allen explained.

 
“Masterpiece?”

  She unlatched her arm from his and pressed her hands together. “Yes, my latest painting. There has been some interest in my older pieces and Robbie believes I could make quite a name for myself.”

  He snorted inwardly. It was more likely Robbie was interested in spending more time with a beautiful woman than viewing her artwork. Josephine was talented, he’d never doubted that, but there were thousands of talented artists out there and very few of them were women. A man of his standing would know that it would be hard to sell a woman’s work.

  Josephine fished in her handbag for the house key and offered Dante a smile. “Thank you for earlier, I don’t know...”

  He waved away her thanks and her dismissal of him. She wouldn’t cast him away that easily. “I’d love to see the painting,” he said with a smile.

  Her lips parted and a tiny furrow appeared between her brows before she responded. “Oh, yes, of course. Won’t you both come in?”

  “After you,” Mr Allen offered genially as they followed her in.

  Dante tried not to grind his teeth.

  Josephine led them into a small room at the rear of the house where the light streamed in through the windows.

  “Good lighting,” he commented, feeling wise indeed.

  She offered him a bemused look and nodded. Mr Allen stepped forward and peered at the canvas. As far as Dante could see, it was a lot of dark splodges and not a lot else.

  “Wonderful brushwork,” the man commented, and Dante bit back a curse of frustration.

  He peered at it but couldn’t make head or tail of it. Josephine must have seen his confusion. “It’s a study of the living conditions of the working man,” she explained.

  No, he still didn’t understand it. Did people even want to buy such things? Who would want to see poor people on their walls? He was used to lavish portraits and generous landscapes. Now there had to be money in portraits. Perhaps he could encourage her in that direction. If she continued painting poor people, she’d be one of them before long.

  Still, he supposed she might come dashing back to him then.