Sinful Deeds (Cynfell Brothers Book 2)

by Holt, Samantha

  Hands to her hips, he eased her forward. No gentleness existed this time. Only primal, raw lust. He thrust up into her with one powerful lunge. Jaw tight and grip strong, he worked himself deeper. Yet while the river of desire that always coursed between them threatened to carry them away, his gaze held steady on hers. It echoed all the things she had wanted from him. Love, his gaze said. I give you love. And respect. And everything else she’d ever wanted.

  “Jo-Jo,” he rasped. “Holy Christ.”

  “Yes,” she answered, certain he felt the same.

  She rode him hard with a wild abandon she hadn’t felt in a long time—not since their first year together. Pleasure coiled deep inside her, waiting to explode, but she held onto it. She wanted to savour this. Whatever happened in the future, she needed to carry this moment with her.

  The cords in his neck stood out as he helped by pounding up into her. The sound of rasping breaths and the odd curse filled the room. Beneath them, the chaise creaked in protest. She began to tremble from head to toe. She wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

  “Yes,” he urged. “Damn it, yes. Jo—”

  At the feel of his body pulsing deep inside her, her orgasm struck. Pure, blinding and blissful. It streamed through every part of her and she fell forwards, her head rested against his while it pulsed through her. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, her body sang.

  He spilled inside her—something he’d never done before. The primitive sensation of two bodies so close merely seemed to extend the beautiful sensations still simmering through her veins. Tomorrow she might regret it but not for now.

  Slick with sweat and exhausted, they sat together for some time. Finally, he eased her off him and grabbed his shirt to sling over her shoulders. Dante gathered her to him and stood, holding her across his arms. She could not help but grip his neck and nestle into the strength of him.

  He carried her to the bed that had once been hers. Clean bedding was on it, waiting for someone. That new mistress perhaps. A sharp jolt managed to pierce her blissful haze, but she didn’t let it carry her away.

  Dante eased her into the sheets and slipped in next to her. He held her close so that she could hear the heavy beat of his heart. If she put her hand to her own chest, she was fairly certain it would echo that sound.

  He stroked and caressed her. How many times had she wanted this? To be held and feel loved. In the past year or so, he had often been too drunk to even bother. He’d fallen asleep and slumped aside, leaving her feeling used and hurt.

  “Come back to me,” he murmured.

  “I—” It would be so easy. Yes. She’d have her old life back. Move back in, see Dante regularly. Be with the man she still unfortunately loved. But she was worth more than that. For all her confusion, she knew that now. She didn’t want to be known as Lord Dante Cynfell’s mistress anymore. “I cannot.”

  He tensed against her and drew back to eye her. “This is about Robert Allen isn’t it?”

  Josephine scowled. “No, why would you say that?”

  “You’re waiting for him to offer for you. He’s obviously interested. I mean, why else would he call on you all times of the day and get people to buy your paintings—”

  She tried to tear away. “You mean you don’t believe anyone would buy my paintings if it were not for Robbie? I suppose you think I have no talent at all and that I’m simply wasting my time.”

  “No.” He grabbed her. “No, damn it. That’s not what I meant at all. I’ve seen you paint. I know how talented you are, even if I do not fully understand art. I’m just—” he huffed a sigh “—I’m jealous. I’m damn well jealous. I want to punch the man every time you go near him. I want to tear his guts out when you smile at him and when he gives you this fond look that is frankly entirely inappropriate, I—”

  Josephine put at hand to his arm. “You do not have to worry about Robbie.”

  She heard his teeth grind at the mention of his name. “I swear if I’d have realised your ambitions, I would have done something. I would have paid for an exhibition or for your paintings to tour around the continent or something. I thought it was a mere hobby. I should have known...blast it all.”

  “Perhaps I should have said too.”

  “Why do you let him do all these things for you but not me, unless you want him to marry you?”

  “Robbie is a good friend but, believe me, he has no interest in marrying me. Robbie, um, doesn’t like women.”

  “He doesn’t like...” She nodded slowly. “Oh, I see.” He chuckled. “Ah.”

  “Dante, if you were willing to do all that for me. If you were willing to go to work, to change your lifestyle, why will you still not marry me?”

  “I didn’t just go to work for you,” he grumbled.

  She patted his arm in understanding. Josephine understood what he’d been through as a child—how lack of expectation had driven him to be the best at the only thing he knew how to do—partying and drinking. But he’d never fully explained marriage. It seemed that if that word was uttered, he curled up in a ball, and she’d simply given up trying to find out what the problem was.

  “You’ve never met my mother. She’s a bitter old thing. I suppose having seven boys took its toll or something. But according to my uncle, she used to be quite the woman. Beautiful, fun, even outrageous. The same with my father. I heard him talking to my uncle once about the change in her after they married. Julian was conceived out of wedlock but it seemed that as soon as they were married, she only kept him company to bear him sons. Luckily for her, she conceived easily so she spent most of her time living in the house in Kent.” He rubbed her arm absent-mindedly. “Neither of them were particularly kind to one another and we rarely saw her.” Dante’s gaze connected with hers. “Do you not see? I care for you too much to do that to you. I won’t do that to any children we might have.”

  Josephine held her breath. What could she say? She knew he’d never been close to his mother but not that it had affected him so much. Little boys needed their mothers. If she ever had a son, she would want to keep him close for the rest of his life, even when he was grown and married. But she was not Dante’s mother and even if she said as much, she doubted he would believe her.

  “So...” She released the air in her lungs slowly. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

  He nodded grimly. “It seems we are.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Let me guess, he’s in the library.”

  The butler shook his head and raised one solemn eyebrow. “No, my lord. In the rear gardens.”

  Dante scowled. That didn’t sound at all like his brother. Why, the day was beautiful now that they were in August. Butterflies flitted about; flowers released their scents. He could almost picture the wild rabbits hopping about the fields behind the house just as they had when he and his brothers were children. It certainly wasn’t the sort of environment he’d expect his brother to be in.

  “Shall I...?”

  Dante held up a hand. “I remember where the gardens are, Bramley, thank you.”

  He strode through the house, ignoring the reproachful glares of several of his ancient, ancient ancestors. He wanted to turn on them and glare back. Aren’t you happy now? he’d say. I’m working. No longer a shame to my family and all that. But he supposed if they rose from the grave they’d be more likely to be wondering why he hadn’t found himself a rich wife and sired dozens of children.

  In truth, the idea of being with any other woman aside from Josephine turned his stomach. In the past two months he’d had plenty of opportunity. Many wanted to warm his bed and yet...Damn it, how could he? He supposed he would have to live like a monk for the rest of his days.

  After pushing open the rear door, he stepped out into the bright sunlight and grimaced. Being celibate for eternity didn’t hold much appeal either. He cupped a hand over his eyes and peered around in search of his brother. There, on a bench at the very end of the gardens and almost hidden from view, sat Julian and his wife.
That tabby of his and another cat were circling their legs and Julian and Viola were...Dante squinted...God almighty, feeding each other. His brother appeared to be smiling. Dante knew he was when his brother’s laugh rang out.

  The sound galvanised him into action. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard his brother laugh—when they were boys perhaps? He hastened down the steps, weaved past the rose bushes and strode by the neatly trimmed box hedges. He coughed before he reached his brother and Viola to ensure they saw him approach.

  It didn’t work. Apparently his brother was still so enamoured with his new wife that he did not care one jot if he looked a romantic fool in front of Dante. He had to witness the stomach churning sight of his brother hand feeding his wife a delicate meringue.

  It was, of course, only stomach-churning because he was not doing it. And naturally, if he had been with a woman—no, Josephine—it would probably have turned more scandalous long ago. He’d be running ripe strawberries over her breasts and licking the juice from her nipples.

  He drew in a long breath before he stopped in front of them. He didn’t need to be thinking of Josephine’s nipples whilst discussing business with his brother. Hand to his mouth, he gave another cough.

  Julian lifted his head and squinted at him in the sunlight. “Dante. I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

  “Caught the morning train,” he explained.

  “I assumed you’d be taking the later one seeing as how you never normally rise before midday.”

  “I have been rising before midday for many months now,” he replied stiffly, feeling somewhat irked by his brother’s low opinion of him. It might have been warranted, but he didn’t need to hear it—not at the moment. He felt like an ass enough as it was.

  “I brought the letters for you to sign.” Dante held out his briefcase.

  “You could have posted them.”

  “I wanted to speak with you about other opportunities. I have a few business propositions that I think you’d be interested in. I also wanted to discuss the townhouse.”

  If his brother was surprised, the only hint of it was the slight twitch of an eyebrow. He stood and took the papers from him. “Why do you not sit and eat with Viola for a moment while I get these signed. You can join me once you’ve eaten.”

  He considered the offer having skipped his morning meal and nodded. Viola smiled and patted the spot next to her. She shifted and poured tea while he sat.

  “Julian says you’ve saved him a small fortune,” she said over the brim of her cup.

  He couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t feel intense pride at a few mere words, and it was even more humiliating to feel it because of his older brother’s words.

  Dante lifted one shoulder. “It’s much easier for me to negotiate in person. People are less likely to respond well to letters.”

  Viola gave him a tilted smile. “Well, you haven’t read many of Julian’s letters then. But I agree. Negotiating in person is much more likely to get you a good deal.”

  He peered at his sister-in-law and pondered what she knew of negotiations. As a coffee heiress, quite a bit he supposed.

  “So you have some more deals Julian might be interested in?”

  He nodded and took a small sandwich. “I could make him some savings on his cotton shipments, and I have an investment I think would be worth looking into.”

  “Well, you have been busy. I was in London only two weeks ago, and I was disappointed that I didn’t see you at all.”

  “You should have let me know,” he chided lightly. “Anything for my favourite sister-in-law.”

  She grinned. “Your only sister-in-law.” Viola titled her head, sending auburn curls spilling down her shoulders in a chaotic manner. “I here tell you are quite the serious man now, Dante. It seems the rumours are almost right.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type of woman to listen to rumours.”

  “Not normally—particularly when they involve me.” She gave him a wicked look, and he had to wonder if his brother had met his match in this woman. “But when they involve my new brothers, I listen carefully.”

  He shovelled down the sandwich and turned his attention to the cup of tea awaiting him. “I suppose I have no choice but to hear these rumours.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Dante.” His sister-in-law popped a meringue in her mouth and chewed it before continuing, “You are most perceptive.”

  Gripping the delicate china, he debated his options. He could stalk away and offend the woman of whom he was steadily growing fonder.

  And risk his brother’s wrath.

  Or he could tolerate her tales of these rumours which she clearly wanted to speak with him about, offer his reassurances and put Viola’s mind at ease. After all, whatever these rumours were, they would be false. He hadn’t done anything reckless since the last time he’d seen Josephine unless getting a little foxed once or twice counted. Even that had been fairly excitement-free as he’d found himself thoroughly bored and ended up in bed before midnight.

  “What are these rumours then? I know you cannot wait to tell me.”

  “Not so much that I cannot wait, but I feel I must get to the bottom of them. We are family after all, and I love your brother dearly—which means I must love you.”

  It was an odd thought—being loved by anyone. He did love his brothers in a way but they were all obliged to love one another. The only other person who had loved him was Josephine.

  “Well then, get it over with.” He grinned to soften the blow of his words but he suspected he could say much to Viola and get away with it. This was no shy, retiring Englishwoman.

  “It is said that you are a broken man.”

  He let his brows rise. “Broken? Do I look broken?”

  Viola ran her gaze over him. “Not on the outside.” She jabbed his chest. “But what about the inside? You are pining for Mrs Beaumont aren’t you?”

  He rubbed his chest. “What would you know of her?”

  “I know that she is making a name for herself in the art world.”

  He nodded and gave a begrudging noise of assent. Not that he begrudged her success. He couldn’t be prouder, but it annoyed him that he’d had this gem of a woman under his nose for so long and not realised the extent of her talent. He hated how her sudden fame brought their relationship under the spotlight too. Dante had managed to avoid any gossip, but he supposed he knew it would be there. Once their relationship had been entirely accepted and virtually ignored. Now everyone would want to know of Mrs Josephine Beaumont’s past.

  “I also know that she was in love with you.”

  “Was, yes.”

  “And were you in love with her?”

  He looked into his sister-in-law’s eyes and tried not to groan. There would be no lying to her. “Yes.”

  Dante didn’t miss the triumphant spark in her eyes. No wonder she’d coaxed her brother into marrying her within weeks of visiting England. He’d wager few men could argue with this woman.

  “Why did you let her go then?”

  “Viola...” he warned. As much as he was growing to like his brother’s wife, and maybe even understand why Julian had risked another marriage, he wasn’t sure he could do this.

  “It’s the same with all you Cynfell men, it seems. Terrified of getting hurt.”

  Dante placed down the cup for fear of crushing it. He wasn’t terrified. Sensible, perhaps, but not terrified.

  “You know Julian didn’t want to marry me because he feared I’d die like his other wives.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he spluttered.

  “Not to him it wasn’t. I’d wager you thought you were protecting Josephine too.” She tilted her head to view him. “This is the thing with you Cynfell brothers. You all seem like rogues, but in reality, you’re chivalrous to the bone.”

  “I fear my dear brother has addled your wits or you’ve been listening to the wrong gossip. I am far from chivalrous, as Josephine would tell you.”

 
; “I’m sure that’s not true. Besides, if she did not think you chivalrous, why would she want to marry you?”

  He narrowed his gaze at her. “Now where did you hear that?”

  A sly smile slipped across her lips. “I have my sources.”

  Diana. He was willing to bet it was her. As nice as Josephine’s closest friend was, she had an extremely loose tongue. Josephine was not the sort to talk of their personal business, but she did confide in that bloody woman.

  Drawing in a breath, he held it and debated the platter of sandwiches. He didn’t have an appetite now. Being confronted by Viola made all his reasons seem so foolish—even if Josephine had understood. He couldn’t do that to her, and he couldn’t do it to any children they might have.

  “Julian must have told you what our parents’ marriage was like. I refuse to repeat that.”

  “He has told me. As has your mother.”

  He nearly had to stop his jaw from falling open. It was no secret that his mother hated Americans. She hadn’t been at all pleased when Julian had asked Viola to marry him. “My mother spoke to you about...” He shook his head. “You spoke to her about her marriage?”

  “Yes.” Viola placed her hand over his. “And I think you should too.”

  ***

  As the butler led him into the dower house, Dante drew in a breath. He felt as though he was facing a firing squad instead of his mother. Having gone over all the paperwork with his brother and picked up on a few more hints from Viola, and perhaps even his brother, he promised to visit with his mother.

  He tugged at his necktie and sat opposite her in the ancient Louis XV chair. His mother sat as though she had been strapped to a board as usual. She’d always seemed like a product of her time—rigid, traditional—until he’d heard of how she’d been before she had married his father. He couldn’t imagine that now he looked at the salt and pepper-haired woman in her finest peach silk.

  “Dante, I saw you arrive, but I did not think you would stop by to visit.”

  “I came to discuss business with Julian.”

  “Yes, he tells me you have taken quite the interest. About time.” She motioned to the tray of tea someone had laid out before his arrival.