How To Seduce A Sinner

by Adrienne Basso

  And with that settled, he left. Dorothea felt almost too shocked to have a reaction. It had been such an extraordinary day, fraught with excessive emotions. Exhaustion lay just beneath the surface, yet Dorothea knew that sleep was an impossibility. So what precisely was she going to do for the remainder of the afternoon?

  She turned to the waiting Mrs. Simpson and gave her a brave smile. “Could I possibly impose upon you for a tour of the house?”

  “’Tis a very large residence, my lady. Seeing everything will take hours.”

  “Well, perhaps just the first floor today,” Dorothea countered, starting to feel an edge of desperation.

  Mrs. Simpson arched her brow, hesitated, then answered, “I shall be honored, my lady.”

  They started with the numerous formal rooms, all grandly and expensively furnished. After seeing the duke’s London home, Dorothea expected nothing less, but there was a comforting quality to these quarters that was lacking in London. Ravenswood felt more like a home and less like a showpiece, though it was grand enough to qualify as one. The clear difference buoyed Dorothea’s spirits.

  All it took was a few words of praise at the excellent condition in which she found everything and Mrs. Simpson’s formal attitude faded. Dorothea was vastly relieved. They concluded the tour in Dorothea’s rooms, a pleasant, large suite that included a well-furnished sitting room and a spectacular view of the gardens.

  As predicted, once she was alone, Dorothea was unable to sleep. Instead, she lay on her back beneath the soft sheets that smelled pleasantly of fresh lavender, staring at the elaborate silk bed hangings, wondering when it would be time to dress for dinner.

  When someone finally arrived at her suite, Dorothea was delighted to see it was Mrs. Simpson.

  “I thought it might be best if I assist you this evening, since your maid hasn’t yet arrived,” the housekeeper said. “I have some skill with arranging hair.”

  “I’ve yet to hire a personal maid and would very much appreciate your advice. By any chance is there a local girl who might suit?”

  Mrs. Simpson bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “Sarah Mallory has a bit of experience and I know her family would be grateful for the income. She was widowed last year and forced to return home. I don’t think she wants to remarry and there are nine other siblings in the household to feed.”

  “She sounds perfect. Can you arrange an interview later this week?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Grinning with satisfaction at making her first decision as mistress of her own home, Dorothea felt herself relax. Mrs. Simpson had not exaggerated her expertise with hair. She pinned Dorothea’s blonde curls in an elegant upsweep that showcased the long line of her throat and the creamy perfection of her chest, so elegantly exposed by her daring décolletage.

  “You look stunning, my lady.” Mrs. Simpson smiled. “Lord Atwood won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

  Or his hands. The raucous thought popped unbidden into Dorothea’s head. But wasn’t that what she wanted? To beguile and bewitch her husband?

  On less than steady legs, Dorothea followed the housekeeper downstairs to the drawing room, still pondering that thought.

  Carter was waiting for her. He had changed from his wedding finery into more casual attire. His hair was still damp from a recent bath and his jaw was freshly shaved. They walked into the dining room and took their seats and again spoke of their wedding and the festivities that followed.

  “At least my father did not make a scene,” Carter said as the second course was served.

  “The duke is not the most congenial of men, yet I find myself respecting him for his honesty,” Dorothea replied. “He did not approve of our marriage initially but seems to have accepted it. I felt when he wished us well, he truly meant it.”

  Carter’s mouth drew tight for a moment. “You seemed pleased to have your younger sister attend the ceremony.”

  Dorothea felt her face warm. “Yes. It was delightful to be with Emma again. I had not realized how much I missed her.”

  “Ah, is that not so often the case? We rarely appreciate the real blessings in our life until they are gone.” He took a sip of wine and stared at her over the rim. “After we are settled back in Town, you must invite Emma to visit.”

  “Nothing would please me more. She is entertaining company, well, that is, when one can drag her away from her easel.”

  His brow rose in confusion. Dorothea explained. “Emma paints. She is extremely talented. Jason has arranged for a private instructor, and her progress under his able tutelage is nothing short of remarkable.”

  “If you wish, we can commission her to do your portrait.”

  “Honestly? ’Tis a very generous offer. I would be delighted.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if it’s dreadful, we can always hang it in the kitchen.”

  “You will do no such thing, sir. Emma will produce a beautiful portrait, one that you will be proud to display beside these ancestral portraits done by some of the art world’s greatest masters,” Dorothea insisted, fully believing in Emma’s work.

  “Her task shall be made far easier with such a beautiful female as her subject.”

  He regarded her through hooded eyes, saying nothing else. She took a bite of her chicken and slowly chewed, barely tasting it. “You’re making me nervous,” she finally blurted out.

  “I am?” He began drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “How?”

  “You are silent. And staring very intently.”

  “’Tis a husband’s prerogative to appreciate his wife’s beauty and grace.”

  A flood of deep color entered Dorothea’s face. She did not like the way he said the word wife. As if she were his possession, his property. Flustered, she picked up her wine goblet and took a large gulp. The sharp, pungent, full-bodied flavor rolled over her tongue, warming her body as it glided down her throat.

  “I find that I am quite full. Shall we ask for dessert to be served?” she inquired after setting her nearly empty goblet back on the white linen cloth.

  He leaned in very close. “You are the only sweet I want on this night, my dear. Shall we?”

  He extended his hand. Dorothea glanced down at it, for a moment feeling vaguely lost.

  “I thought it might be easier if we started out together,” he added. “Unless you prefer to go to your chambers and wait for me there?”

  “Like some medieval sacrificial virgin awaiting her lord and master,” Dorothea muttered.

  “Lord and master?” Carter laughed. “Oh, my dear, ’tis comments like that which make me very glad we are married.”

  Still smiling, he stood, walked around to her chair, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, so none of the footmen could hear him. “I believe it is time for us to retire.”

  Obediently, Dorothea rose from her chair. He caught her hand and led her purposefully from the dining room. The blush that started in Dorothea’s cheeks quickly spread to her neck as they casually sauntered past what seemed like an army of footmen, all completely aware of where Lord Atwood was taking his bride and what he planned to do with her.

  She had never before felt so uncertain. If only she knew more about what was to come! Yes, she understood the biology of it all, but the particulars of how it was done, how it all felt, eluded her completely. Dorothea clasped her free hand to her stomach and glanced at the flickering wall sconces as if searching for answers in their glowing warmth.

  Finally, Carter stopped in front of a solid oak door. She thought her chambers were also located in this section of the house, but her nerves had stolen her sense of direction and she realized she could be anywhere in the mansion.

  With a mysterious smile, he opened the door, walked over the threshold, then gently tugged her inside.

  It was the largest, most opulent bedchamber Dorothea had ever seen, dominated in the center by an enormous canopied bed. The four mahogany posters at the corners rose majestically skyward, yet barely reached the intricately
painted ceiling. The bed was draped in royal blue velvet, with a matching brocade spread that was invitingly turned down.

  The window drapes were the same shade of blue, embroidered with gold threads that gave them a shimmering, luxurious sheen. They were drawn shut to prevent the morning light from disturbing his lordship’s slumber.

  The furniture was a mix of dark and lighter woods, each design masculine and functional. She thought the room suited him with its mix of elegant strength and masculine beauty.

  Her feet felt rooted to the floor, but she forced herself to turn and face him. Instantly she felt caught in his mesmerizing stare. She couldn’t blink, was unable to look away, captured in his sensual spell.

  He tipped her chin with one hand. There was a spark of intensity in his eyes that stole any words from Dorothea’s mind. He was staring at her with the heat and desire of a man in need, his breathing harsh while hers bellowed in rapid response.

  She waited almost breathlessly for the kiss that she knew would be forthcoming. Carter’s lips sank into hers and a warm, liquid rush of pleasure cascaded over her entire body. Dorothea lifted her hand and closed it around his raised arm in an attempt to steady herself.

  He ended the kiss and pulled away, bestowing upon her a grin so wicked, so sexy, her knees quivered. Then he reached behind his back with his free hand and Dorothea heard the lock click into place. A wicked sigh shivered through her.

  They were completely alone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dorothea tried not to look apprehensive. She took a few steps into the room, then paused. The large bed loomed directly in front, a stark reminder of what was to come, what she felt so suddenly unprepared to face.

  Silently Carter pulled off his jacket, yanked his neck cloth free, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and tossed the garments haphazardly on a chair. He removed his clothes with an economy of motion and grace Dorothea envied, knowing she would look like a clumsy contortionist if she tried to struggle out of her gown herself.

  He regarded her warily and she could only imagine how her odd thoughts appeared to him, reflected on her face. Annoyed with herself for showing so little fortitude, she glanced away. This was her wedding night, not a tooth extraction. She had wanted to experience this intimacy for a long time and had been privileged to choose this man as her partner. Such a skittish, hesitant reaction was ridiculous.

  Tightening her jaw for strength, Dorothea lifted her chin. Wearing only an open shirt and black satin knee breeches, her bridegroom was a formidable figure. Dorothea could see the swirls of dark hair that covered the upper muscles of his chest peeking through the white linen. He was tall and powerful, broad and masculine, so incredibly…male. Her mouth went dry.

  They stared at each other, exchanging thoughts and emotions without saying a word. Outwardly, she knew she looked calm and curious. Inside, Dorothea felt like screaming.

  She forced herself to speak. “My lord.”

  “My lady?”

  His expression alarmed her. He appeared to be exerting a tremendous amount of control, looking for all the world as if he wanted to pounce on her. And eat her alive. Dorothea shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Nervous,” she clarified. “I want very much to please you, my lord.”

  “Carter,” he whispered. “I believe the intimacy that we are about to enjoy dictates more informal terms. Don’t you agree, Dorothea?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Now, the first thing we need to do is get you more comfortable.”

  Before she could question precisely what he meant, Carter reached out and began removing the pins from her hair. The silky tresses fell across her back and shoulders, a showering golden mane. He stroked it softly, almost reverently, as if he were fascinated by the texture of the silken threads.

  His large hands were gentle, the rhythmic caresses hypnotic. Dorothea felt her eyes slowly close as her body began to relax. But the languid feeling abruptly disappeared when he moved his hand forward to cup her breast. Her startled gasp echoed through the chamber as a bolt of sensation flashed between her legs.

  “We’ll go slowly,” he promised. “’Tis better that way.” She swayed into him and he laughed, a short bark of mirth. “That is to say, as slow as I can manage. You are an extraordinary temptation, my dear.”

  She felt her confidence soar, knowing he found her attractive, desirable. After his odd behavior this afternoon, it was the reaffirmation she needed, the assurance she craved. Dorothea reached up and ran the edge of her finger along his jaw. The surface was smooth, yet when she reversed the direction of her hand she could feel the rough edge of his whiskers. It was a strangely erotic sensation.

  He put his mouth to hers, nibbling her lower lip until she willingly opened to him. Relaxing, Dorothea curled her tongue against his. She adored his kisses. Her hands came up to cling to his broad shoulders as the familiar excitement flared deep in her belly, making her feel hot all over.

  His kisses moved from her mouth to her cheek, then drifted down the column of the neck. His light, teasing touch made her breath catch, her skin tingle.

  He drew down her bodice, then tugged down the edge of her lace chemise to bare her breasts. Dorothea inhaled a sharp gasp, which Carter ignored.

  She could feel his warm breath against her bare flesh. With light, soft flicks of his tongue, he headed toward her nipple. It tightened and rose to greet him as he drew closer, but he circled around it, nipping playfully with his teeth and lips.

  Mindlessly, Dorothea reached up to clutch his head, lacing her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer.

  “You are very sensitive, very responsive,” he murmured just before he took the fullness of her breast into his mouth.

  “Oh, my,” she cried out in a shaky whimper.

  Heat speared through her limbs and she moved her legs restlessly, urgently. His sharp tongue laved her nipple, then suckled deeply. Desire burned through her, shattering her thoughts, rendering her incapable of thinking or feeling anything but this extraordinary hunger.

  “Too many clothes,” he rasped.

  His hands reached around her shoulders to the middle of her back, working furiously at the various fastenings. The gown gaped forward and he tugged on it, forcing it away from her body. She next felt his hand reach under her hem. He ran his fingers possessively over the top of her stocking, smoothing the skin of her bare thighs. He rolled the delicate silk downward, kneeling before her as he held her ankle and pulled the fabric free.

  At his command, she stepped out of the gown. All that was left on her quivering body was her partially open chemise and drawers. Dorothea shivered. Her hands moved instinctively to cover herself, modesty momentarily overtaking her desire.

  “No hiding,” Carter insisted. Standing once again, his eyes locked on hers. “And no secrets.”

  Dorothea felt an unfamiliar jolt inside her chest. The idea of being that close, that honest with a man was terrifying yet amazingly appealing. Was it possible? Could they forge a bond so strong, so true that it could withstand the frailties of their natures, that it could endure the test of time?

  “No secrets,” she repeated, and to prove the sincerity of her words Dorothea reached down and untied the three remaining closed ribbons on her chemise. Forcing herself not to think about it, she lifted the garment over her head, then yanked off her drawers. She heard the swift intake of his breath as the last of the silk slid away, exposing her naked flesh to his eyes.

  “Your beauty would unman a saint,” he declared.

  Kissing her mouth firmly, Carter swept Dorothea off her feet and carried her to his bed, depositing her in the center. She bounced once on the firm mattress as he quickly removed his remaining clothing, tossing his shirt, breeches, and smallclothes to the floor.

  He soon joined her in the bed, his hard naked flesh sliding against her own. It was startling, vulnerable, to be touching her whole self to him without
any barriers between them. Startling and delightful.

  She could feel the hardness of him engulfing her; his oak-hard chest, the strength of his corded arm muscles, the flatness of his lean stomach. She liked the feel of his body, so different from her own.

  Liked the feel and liked the sight. In the glow of the candlelight she could see that the hair on his chest followed a line down his flat stomach, growing thicker between his legs. Feeling shy, she merely glanced there, and got an eyeful of his engorged, jutting penis.

  Oh, dear. He was going to put that inside her?

  Her rising desire tempered considerably. But her fear was soon distracted by Carter’s lips. He turned her on her side and seized her mouth in a fierce kiss. His hands were everywhere as they explored her body slowly, deliberately, thoroughly, arousing her with infinite skill.

  A surge of embarrassment struck when he reached her womanhood and cupped the silken curls between her thighs. With incredible gentleness he drew his fingers over her. Barely touching, they traced a torturous line of excitement around the swollen, tender flesh, sending tremors of passion through her. Moaning as her head fell back, she started moving against his hand, following his rhythm and then creating one of her own.

  He probed with his fingertips, parting her folds, sliding one finger up inside her. Dorothea lunged. There was moisture, a wetness that had come from her own body. It seemed to please him, for he growled in her ear and once again took her nipple into his mouth.

  His mouth and fingers continued to work their magic on her untutored body. Dorothea could hear the small cries of pleasure coming from her own throat, a keening, almost animal sound of desperation and excitement. The feeling continued to build until she thought it would consume her. She couldn’t seem to get close enough. She tightened her hold on his shoulders, urgently seeking more, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts.

  “Easy, love,” he coaxed, his voice a deep timbre. “Don’t rush it, let it come naturally.”