Sins of a Virgin (Sinners Trio)

by Anna Randol

  And he wasn’t one of her lovesick swains.

  “You’ll help me?” She reached for him again but then dropped her hand as if afraid of rejection.

  The small sign of vulnerability ensnared him in a way her seductive glances never could. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Her breath came fast and shallow, causing her breasts to strain against her bodice. “I know.”

  He swallowed roughly as she leaned toward him. He needed to tell her he wasn’t interested. But when he spoke, his voice was raspy and deep. “Madeline—”

  She pulled back with quick determination. “That is why they’ll agree.”

  He stared at her through the muddled haze of lust. “What?”

  She dusted off the front of her gown as if to rid it of any hint of their interaction. “Every man has a weakness. Pride, vanity . . .” She allowed a deliberate pause, a mocking grin curving her lips. “The desire to protect. Any weakness can be turned to my advantage.”

  Gabriel stalked to the far corner of the room until the urge to wrap his hands around her neck faded. She had played him. She hadn’t even needed to snap her fingers to bring him to heel. “You intend to manipulate every man in England?”

  “As amusing as that would be, it isn’t necessary. Once the first few agree, I’ll point out that anyone who refuses must have something embarrassing to hide.”

  He exhaled through clenched teeth. Forget she made a fool of you. He’d wanted her to have a plan, and apparently, hers was far better than he’d given her credit for. But fury, and a disturbing amount of frustrated desire, still drove him. “So you plan to dupe them into paying you a fortune?”

  She frowned. “No. They’ll get what they pay for. My virginity. I’m merely trying to ensure they don’t cheat me.”

  “By preying on their weaknesses.”

  She crossed her arms. “It’s not a crime to discover fantasies. You do the same thing.”

  He glared at her. “Nonsense.”

  “When you capture a suspect, you ferret out their weaknesses first, do you not? You watch for the lies and the fears, then you exploit them to gain a confession. The only difference is that my process ends with a pleasant interlude in bed and yours ends on the gallows.”

  His fists tightened until his hands ached. But Miss Valdan was right, curse her. Besides, he couldn’t risk provoking her further. The more he thought about it, the more perfect this opportunity was. By working for Madeline, he could investigate the men of the ton without their knowledge. Hell, perhaps they’d even help. “What else do you need me to do?”

  She hesitated, and for a moment, he was positive his bitterness had lost him the assignment.

  The door opened and the butler entered. This time a blue ribbon and pheasant feathers trimmed the man’s hat. He carried a tray containing tea and biscuits, which he set on a small table. Madeline didn’t spare the butler’s strange attire a second glance. Instead, she lowered herself onto the settee and motioned to the chair across from her.

  Gabriel sat. He’d be harder to throw out if he was drinking tea.

  She poured with a grace more befitting a lady of the manor than a woman of the streets. Even his mother would have approved. She offered him a plate of biscuits. “I will also require the sexual histories of the top bidders. That information, I assume, they will be less anxious to part with.”

  At least she’d decided not to throw him out.

  “My desire to fulfill fantasies only goes so far. I won’t share a bed with a madman, no matter how much he pays. Nor do I want to end up with the pox as a memento of the evening. While financial information can be supplied by a banker or solicitor, this portion of the assignment will require an investigator familiar with the darker environs and back alleys of London.”

  That he was. Since Susan’s death, he’d spent little time anywhere else. The more violent and depraved the criminal he hunted, the better. He held out hope with each arrest that someone would have a clue that would lead him to his sister’s killer. As the months and years had passed, he’d recognized the growing improbability of that hope. Yet he couldn’t stop.

  Besides, if Miss Valdan wanted a proper investigation, not only would he look into the whorehouses and bordellos, he’d have to interview her bidders’ staffs as well—butlers, valets, maids. All people who would know of their masters’ proclivities.

  And their whereabouts the night of the Simm murder.

  Gabriel nodded in acceptance.

  “Also, for the next fortnight, I need you by my side when I’m seen in public.”

  “What?” That sneaky cur Potts had left out that detail. “I can’t investigate if I’m escorting you.”

  “I’m not asking for much time. A couple hours in the morning when I drive in the park and in the evening when I appear at my chosen entertainments. The rest of the day belongs to you.”

  It sounded reasonable, but he had no desire to spend that much time in her company. “I didn’t think you lacked for escorts.”

  “Do you know Lady Golpin?”

  Gabriel shook his head at the change of topic. “Not that I remember.”

  “She owns a fantastic diamond necklace. It is enormous. She only wears it if she is accompanied by two armed footmen.”

  He took a bite of his biscuit and waited. Although he might dislike her methods, he’d begun to suspect that a calculating, logical mind worked inside that beautiful head.

  “Everyone is so impressed by the security that no one has thought to question the actual worth of the piece.”

  “And they should?”

  Madeline smiled, a mischievous grin that harkened back to girlhood pranks. “It’s paste. She’s actually only a stone’s throw from losing everything to her creditors.”

  A matching grin threatened to form on his face until it occurred to him that her smile was likely a ploy calculated to draw that reaction from him. To gain his compliance.

  “It is in my best interest to look like I have something worth protecting.”

  He stilled as another correlation to Lady Golpin occurred to him. “Lady Golpin uses this tactic to hide the truth. Are you doing the same thing?”

  Would she admit it?

  “Are you asking me if I’m a virgin?” She looked thoroughly entertained by the question. “Why do you care, Mr. Huntford?”

  Gabriel placed the biscuit on his plate. He didn’t care, yet he found himself leaning forward. “I think I should know the value of the commodity I’m protecting.”

  “Immense, of course.” She blew gently on her cup of tea.

  Tiny pinpricks covered his arms as his body reacted to the imagined sensation of that air moving over his skin. “It’s my reputation you’re hiring as well as my skills. Are you a virgin?”

  She sipped her drink and swallowed, sending a ripple down her throat. “What else could I be?”

  “Very clever or foolish. Are you truly untouched?”

  The sparkle in her eyes dimmed, and she returned her cup to the tray. “I never claimed that. If you want further assurance, you’ll have to bid on me yourself.” She rose to her feet. “Now I also must be clear that I have several rules I will insist upon. First, all information you discover will be reported to me, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

  Gabriel nodded. He’d give her any information that might affect her auction. He would not be telling her, however, about his own private inquiry. He’d do everything she’d hired him for. If he chose to do more, that was his business. He quelled a stab of guilt. He hadn’t lured his suspects into bidding on her. With or without his involvement, they’d still be pursuing her. In fact, she was safer because of him.

  “Next, your investigation into my bidders’ private lives remains private. I won’t risk scaring potential bidders away.”

  That suited his purposes perfectly. “Anything else?”

  “One last thing. Your only payment will be monetary. Under no circumstances will I sleep with you or pleasure you in any way.” Her gaze
swept over him, lingering on his lower body. “No matter the size of the bulge in your trousers. Are we agreed?”

  Resisting the urge to look down, Gabriel gave a curt nod. “I’m at your service.”

  Chapter Three

  “Ready?” Madeline asked, taking her bonnet from Canterbury.

  Huntford glared at her from where he’d propped his shoulder against the door frame. The morning light pouring in behind him rendered his face difficult to read. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  She pinned on her hat. “Feel free to continue glowering. It will quite add to your authoritative air.”

  He didn’t reply to her sally. She opened her mouth again, then paused. She didn’t have to keep him enthralled. He could be dour and bitter all he wanted and she had no responsibility to coax him from his black mood. She savored the novelty of it.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have tormented him yesterday, but it had seemed easier to show how she planned to ensure her bidders’ cooperation rather than argue. And truth be told, his arrogance had nettled, and she’d wanted to take him down a peg.

  Madeline walked toward him, doing her best to give no indication of the way energy sizzled around him, raising the hair on the back of her neck. While he was not precisely handsome, she’d dealt with enough men to know he’d undress well. But that didn’t explain why his proximity increased the rate of her heart. She kept her gait steady as she passed, hoping to determine the cause of her agitation.

  Most likely it was the way his eyes never left her, and the fact that it wasn’t lust binding his gaze. She was unused to people seeing past her beauty. It unnerved her. Her secrets were her own.

  Beyond the carriage, a footman ducked behind an oak tree.

  Not knowing what about him had caught her attention, she lifted her skirts and hurried across the street. She knew better than to ignore her instincts. The crunch of gravel informed her that Huntford followed. She didn’t look back, hoping that if she ignored him, he wouldn’t speak until she could see the man behind the tree.

  It was a vain hope. “Madeline—”

  The man darted out, his pace just short of a run.

  “Henry!” Madeline called out, hoping to startle him into turning around. But the man didn’t slow. Short of breaking into a run herself—and she knew she’d never be able to explain that to Huntford’s satisfaction—she wouldn’t be able to catch him. She studied what she could: the awkward swing of the man’s arms, the slight outward turn of his feet, his boots. The boots were by Hoby—there was no mistaking the quality. And they were new and perfectly fitted.

  Shoes never lied. A wig or coat could be thrown on, but shoes were too bulky. And if he’d planned his disguise so poorly, he wasn’t a professional.

  But neither was he a footman.

  Huntford watched her as if she’d gone mad.

  “I could have sworn that was the footman I sent to deliver letters. But I must have been wrong.” While pretending to adjust her skirt, Madeline studied the grass under the tree where the man had been standing. Well trampled. He’d been waiting there for some time.

  If he’d been an assassin, she’d be dead.

  Huntford’s eyes bored through her again. “You often run after servants?”

  Far too observant.

  She raised an eyebrow. “He also left with the silver.”

  As she’d hoped, Huntford’s attention lifted toward where the man had disappeared. “Do you want me to go after him?”

  Madeline shook her head. If the man came back, she’d be ready for him. “It wasn’t him. Henry was shorter.” She crossed the street and climbed into her carriage.

  “Lenton, Billingsgate, and Wethersly are your top three bidders,” he said as he sat across from her.

  She nodded. Apparently, she’d been granted a reprieve for this morning’s oddity, but she didn’t for a moment believe he’d forgotten. “I received a report on the bid book as well.”

  “What do you know of them?”

  “You’ve had their names since this morning. What did you find out?”

  His shoulder hitched upward. “Lenton is young and horse mad, inherited a large amount of money from his maternal grandmother. Billingsgate is a gambler and floats between wealth and poverty on a weekly basis. Wethersly, I haven’t heard much about, but from what I could discover, he’s an old man with an eye for pretty women. What do you know?”

  She saw no reason to hide the fruits of her own carefully placed questions. “Billingsgate has won more than he’s lost the past few weeks and prefers faro.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Only very slightly. We met in the park last week. He’s charming, if a bit cold.”

  “Cold in what way?”

  She could hardly explain that she’d noticed how his hands tensed whenever someone touched him. Or that he always positioned himself in the dominant position in any conversation. “Does it matter? My main concern is that he has money.”

  Huntford leaned back in his seat, somehow failing to appear any more relaxed. “So it doesn’t matter if you like the man who wins?”

  She’d never expected to. The government had been assigning her to seduce men since she was fourteen. Any romantic notions she might have once held were long dead. “What matters is that they think I like them.”

  “You see no issue with the deception?”

  “Don’t act so offended. Half the world pretends. Doesn’t an heiress become more desirable the larger her dowry? Dukes have more admirers than their character and wit warrant. A modiste always swears the most expensive fabric looks the best. In my case, I’ll make the winner think the fortune he paid for me was a bargain. We both win.”

  Huntford frowned. “You have a disturbing ability to make your justifications seem valid.”

  “Is that a compliment?” she asked.

  “No.”

  But that pleased her even more. Flattery was meaningless; accusations seldom were.

  The carriage slowed as they approached the tree-lined roads of Hyde Park.

  “What do you know of Lenton?” Huntford asked.

  “Quite a bit. He—” A familiar round face rode toward them. “See for yourself.”

  As she beckoned, she tilted her head and parted her lips. While ensuring her body was artfully arranged on the cushions, she peeled off her gloves, baring even more flesh. By the time Viscount Lenton reined in his spirited bay gelding, she was ready.

  A grin split his cherubic face and he doffed his hat with a wide sweep of his arm. “My fair Miss Valdan, it’s been far too long since you allowed me to escort you to Vauxhall. Your beauty is like the first daffodil in spring.”

  Drat, Canterbury won. She’d laid her money that the first compliment would compare her to the sun. Madeline extended her hand, and Lenton brought it to his lips for a lingering caress. Then he froze, his wet lips like two lethargic slugs. With an uncomfortable cough, he jerked upright. The sudden motion provoked the gelding to snort and yank against his bit.

  Lenton kept a wary eye on Huntford as he calmed the skittish animal. “I say, you’re that Runner, aren’t you?”

  Huntford inclined his head. “Gabriel Huntford.”

  “You’re the one who caught the Chetfeld killer?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What ever happened to him?”

  “I sent him to the devil with a noose around his neck.”

  A chill trickled down her spine. But she had nothing to fear. He wasn’t investigating her. She simply shouldn’t wear such low-cut gowns in April.

  Madeline allowed Lenton to process Huntford’s less than cordial expression before redirecting his attention back to her. “Enough about him.” She gave a dismissive wave in Huntford’s direction.

  The flicker of her hand spooked the horse.

  With a grunt and pull on the reins, Lenton again settled the bay.

  She widened her eyes. “Is that magnificent creature one of Cooing Dove’s line?” It was, unless her sources failed her.


  “Got him at Tattersall’s last week. I outbid Barton for him.” His eyes roved over her with renewed interest. “Not many women recognize prime horseflesh when they see it.”

  Such a high-strung animal wasn’t fit for a country lane, let alone the streets of London, but she trailed her gaze deliberately over the viscount. “I make it a point to take note of all fine flesh—horse or”—she paused, drawing her hand along the edge of her bodice—“human.”

  Although Lenton’s gaze locked on her fingers with feverish intensity, it was another set of eyes from across the carriage that intruded on her senses, snagging her breath in her throat and tightening her breasts.

  Her hand froze for less than an instant. By the time she’d named the novel feeling, she knew how to turn it to her advantage.

  Like anger or fear, lust was simply a physical reaction to external stimulus. And although its severity was unexpected, there was no reason to waste such a perfectly genuine reaction. She slowed the motion of her hand so Lenton would notice her taut nipples.

  As she kept her gaze locked with him, she savored the idea of grasping the front of her bodice and lowering it as Huntford watched. His scowl would no doubt remain in place but his eyes would darken, turning the pale green into a more human color. His gaze would narrow, held captive by her actions.

  Fanning her face with her hand, she highlighted the flush heating her cheeks. A slow blink drew attention to her dilated eyes.

  And Lenton, the poor fellow, thought it was all for him.

  She spoke while the throaty quality still clung to her voice. “Please tell me you’ve bid.”

  Lenton tugged on the front of his jacket. “I did. And I won’t let another man top me.”

  “I hope you’ll let me top you.”

  His hand clenched on the reins, and his horse pranced, its eyes rolling. “When I win you, I—”

  “If you win.” Huntford’s bored tone cut through Lenton’s fervency.

  “You never did say why he’s in your carriage.”