How To Seduce A Sinner

by Adrienne Basso

  Today he was taking Dorothea into the village to visit the shops. He could tell she was surprised at the suggestion, but pleased, too. After all, what female did not noticeably brighten at the prospect of shopping?

  It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sky was a deep azure blue; the few clouds that dared to appear on the horizon were puffy white balls that floated lazily across the sky. Forsaking the large, cumbersome coach, they drove alone into the village, cozily seated next to each other in Carter’s open curricle.

  He identified a few landmarks along the way, but for the majority of the journey they were silent. But it was a good silence, a comfortable silence. Carter’s spirits lifted. Another sign of the progress they had achieved in their relationship.

  Though it was not market day, the village streets were bustling with activity. They received many curious stares, and Carter smiled and doffed his hat to those souls brave enough to meet his gaze.

  “Where shall we begin?” he asked Dorothea after he had secured the carriage horses and assisted her out.

  “The millinery shop,” she replied. “Mrs. Simpson told me that the widow Jenkins has been struggling lately to pay her bills. I’m sure our patronage will be appreciated.”

  The bell placed strategically on the door tinkled merrily as they went inside. A middle-aged woman hurried forward from the back of the shop, pulling up short when she caught sight of her patrons. Standing still as a post, her eyes bulging, her mouth open, the woman stared at them in a speechless trance.

  “Mrs. Jenkins?” Dorothea said softly.

  Visibly shaking off her stupor, the woman took a step toward them. “Yes? Hello. Or rather good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon. I am Lord Atwood and this is Lady Atwood.” Carter smiled. The shopkeeper continued to stare. Well, it was no wonder the woman had trouble paying her bills. She had no skill at all in dealing with customers.

  “Our housekeeper, Mrs. Simpson, told us about your lovely shop,” Dorothea said as she slipped to Carter’s side. “I can see she was not exaggerating the quality and selection of bonnets available.”

  “Oh, my lady.” Mrs. Jenkins fairly gushed as she curtsied very grandly. “I am so honored to have you frequent my humble little establishment.”

  “We are most happy to be here, are we not, my lord?”

  “Delighted.”

  Carter hardly knew where to look. There were hats and ribbons, gloves, and other feminine fripperies artfully displayed on and behind the counters. Far too much lace and feathers and silk for his tastes. Now, if there had been some sensual, female undergarments in view he might have taken more of an interest.

  Dorothea, however, was clearly in her element. At Mrs. Jenkins’s urging, she took a seat in front of a cheval mirror. The only other empty chair was a dainty, gilded piece. Carter eyed it with suspicion, doubting it would be comfortable and concerned it would not hold his weight. Wisely, he elected to stand.

  “You have a most unusual selection of hats, Mrs. Jenkins,” Dorothea proclaimed. “Do you design them all yourself?”

  “I most certainly do. After consulting all the latest fashion plates, of course. If I may?”

  Mrs. Jenkins turned to her right and lifted a concoction off the counter that resembled a fruit basket. Carter saw Dorothea’s eyes widen momentarily in true alarm, but she quickly recovered. Casting a broad smile at the giddy Mrs. Jenkins, Dorothea obligingly removed the simple, elegant hat she wore and placed the fruit monstrosity on her head.

  “Ahh.” Mrs. Jenkins’s sigh of excitement was so loud it could easily be heard the length and breadth of the street. “It looks perfect on you. Even more beautiful than I envisioned. Don’t you agree, my lord?”

  Carter managed to hold back his grunt of laughter. He was no expert of fashion, but even he knew the bonnet was a horror. “Everything my wife wears looks beautiful, Mrs. Jenkins.”

  “Oh, my.” Mrs. Jenkins began fanning her hand in front of her face. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that one of my modest creations would be worn by such an elegant, important lady. It fairly takes my breath away.”

  The stricken look returned to Dorothea’s eyes. She swiveled around to face him. The color was high in her cheeks, matching the shade of a cluster of silk cherries that hung over her left brow. “Do you think I should purchase it, my lord?”

  “I insist.” He grinned devilishly. “That one and at least one more.”

  “I agree.” Dorothea turned back toward the mirror, pressing her hand to her abdomen as if searching for strength. “However, I believe this bonnet will be the perfect gift for my sister, Gwendolyn.”

  Mrs. Jenkins’s face fell. “Your sister?”

  “She is married to Mr. Jason Barrington. Her father-in-law is the Earl of Stafford. Dear Gwen is not out in society these days because she is expecting a happy event at any time. But she will soon return to the social whirl of Town. I just know when she sees this hat her spirits will be greatly lifted.”

  Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes warmed. “I am overwhelmed at the thought of having another London lady of quality wearing my creations. But we now must find something extraordinary for you, Lady Atwood.”

  “This one matches your gown,” Carter said, unable to resist an overwrought, fussy bonnet, which to his eye resembled an abandoned bird’s nest.

  “You are right, my lord. The colors are nearly the exact shade as the marchioness’s walking dress!” Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed.

  “Ah, true serendipity,” he replied with a grin as the blush of color drained from Dorothea’s cheeks.

  Mrs. Jenkins arranged the hat on Dorothea’s head. It was difficult to believe, but the bonnet looked even worse than when it was displayed on the counter.

  “The colors do blend well with my ensemble,” Dorothea said weakly.

  Carter’s mouth went slack. He had been joking, teasing her. From what he had noticed of her wardrobe, his wife preferred, simple, elegant lines on her clothing and a restrained hand on the extra ribbons, flounces, and embroidery. Was she truly going to forsake her own sense of style and good taste just to aid Mrs. Jenkins?

  Carter received his answer ten minutes later as they left the shop and strolled down the street.

  “I can feel your laughter, my lord,” Dorothea said in a steady voice.

  “I beg to differ, my dear. I am masterfully keeping my emotions under control, and given your current appearance that is a Herculean task.”

  Dorothea shrugged. “There are worse things in the world than walking down the street wearing a nest fit for birds on one’s head.”

  “True,” he replied, trying to bite back his grin without much success. “You could be balancing a basket of fruit instead.”

  “With birds pecking at it.” Dorothea giggled. She bent over slightly with laughter, then straightened as the concoction on her head began to shift. “I cannot wait to give Gwendolyn her gift. It truly will lift her spirits, of that I have no doubt.”

  Carter laughed again, but a sobering thought brought on a more serious concern. “Perhaps it is a greater cruelty to give Mrs. Jenkins false hope by purchasing and wearing her bonnets. Her talent for making hats seems limited at best.”

  Dorothea shook her head. Carter watched in amusement as the nest dipped to one side, then righted itself in the center of her head. “Mrs. Jenkins’s bonnets are well constructed, fashioned from good quality materials. Unfortunately, she has a very heavy hand with the fripperies and a somewhat vivid imagination. It is certainly not to my taste, but I can think of several women in London who would find these hats divine, especially if they believed them to be the height of fashion.”

  “Even I know that fashion is not set in this sleepy little village.”

  She smiled, and Carter was struck by how truly beautiful she looked. Even wearing that ridiculous bonnet.

  “All Mrs. Jenkins needs to succeed is for the women in the area to embrace her designs. I believe my patronage will go far in making that happen.”


  Quite the understatement, he was certain. But at what cost? “My dear, dare I point out that your slender neck will surely collapse if you continue to wear these monstrosities upon your head.”

  She arched a brow, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “I can assure you this is the first and last time you will see me wearing such a voluminous hat. I have commissioned the making of another bonnet from Mrs. Jenkins and plan to gently guide her hand away from all the excessive ribbons, bows, feathers, and such. I feel confident that I can convince her to restrain her more exuberant designs in order to appeal to a broader base of customers, thus ensuring her financial success.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  Dorothea sighed. “In the meantime, I shall wear this bonnet to advertise my support of her endeavors.”

  Carter leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I could easily contrive to have the hat blow off on the carriage ride home where it would forever be lost in the Ravenswood forest,” he suggested.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Dorothea responded with a wry grin. “Ah, now here is the confectioner’s shop. I have a long list of sweets I wish to buy.”

  Mr. Harper was a pleasant man, with an easy smile. He enthusiastically welcomed them into the store, causing Carter a momentary flash of guilt. These were his lands, his people, his responsibility. Everyone’s happy, surprised greeting brought home the fact that he visited the estate far too seldom.

  Vowing that too would change now that he was married, Carter took his time examining Mr. Harper’s wares, adding several of his own selections to Dorothea’s long list. She was gracious and complimentary, and Mr. Harper beamed under the attention, though Carter was certain they had Mrs. Jenkins’s appalling hat to thank for the extra ounces of sweets they were given. It was clear that poor Mr. Harper could not fully concentrate on the task of measuring as he was mesmerized by the bobbing, swaying contraption that was Dorothea’s bonnet.

  They visited several more shops, and in each Dorothea displayed the same gracious demeanor, which soon endeared her to one and all. She was all smiles when they returned to Ravenswood, though she excused herself to attend to her correspondence and then confessed she might even indulge in a short nap before dinner.

  Carter kissed her hand in what he believed to be a husbandly fashion as she left him. He watched her hungrily as she slipped away, climbing the stairs to her chambers, and looked forward to the day, very soon he hoped, when they would be taking that nap together.

  “Fishing?” Dorothea glanced at the pole Carter carried with a dubious eye. “Actually, I’ve never been fishing.”

  “And you call yourself a country girl? For shame!”

  “This country girl prefers indoor activities,” she proclaimed.

  “But it’s a beautiful day. ’Tis a crime to waste the sunshine. Come, I’ll teach you.”

  She could see the sparkle in his eyes, the challenge in his face. Goodness, his charm was nearly irresistible, as he damn well knew.

  “Aren’t there worms involved?” she asked with a shudder.

  “Very small ones.” She rolled her eyes, and he hastily added, “I will bait your hook and remove your fish when they are caught.”

  Hmm. Why was he so very keen on the outing? Normally, Dorothea would suspect an ulterior motive, specifically the opportunity for seduction, but honestly, how would that be possible with dirty worms and smelly fish?

  She considered him for a long moment, trying in vain to decipher his reason. “I will join you, but only if we fish from shore,” she finally said. “I don’t particularly like small boats and I cannot swim.”

  “I know all the prime spots from shore.”

  “May my new puppy come along?”

  Carter grimaced. “I worry he might wander off, or even worse, fall into the lake. There is nothing more unpleasant than the aroma of a wet dog.”

  “All right, he’ll stay behind this time,” Dorothea reluctantly agreed. “I just need to fetch my bonnet and we can be off.”

  He grabbed her hand before she could leave, his expression comically pained. “I beg of you to wear one from London, please. Mrs. Jenkins’s hat will most assuredly scare away the fish.”

  “And attract the birds. Yes, I know. A London bonnet it will be.”

  She was fairly skipping by the time she joined him in the south garden as the prospect of spending time with him put her in a happy mood. It was a pleasant walk to the lake.

  “Where do we sit?” Dorothea asked.

  “Here, on the rocks.” His arm swept outward to indicate the various boulders on one side of the lake.

  “They are rather dirty,” Dorothea remarked, glancing down at her lovely pale green day gown.

  Carter released an exaggerated sigh. “If I knew you were going to be such a girl about this, madam, I would never have invited you along.”

  “Serves you right,” she retorted with a teasing glance. “I should insist that you return to the manor and fetch a pillow for me to sit upon.”

  “A silk one?”

  “A silk brocade pillow,” she answered, trying to keep the humor from her face.

  “I will not have my expensive pillows tossed about in the dirt, madam. Especially when you have sufficient natural padding.” He grinned. “Instead, I will sacrifice my own clothing.”

  Carter gallantly removed his jacket and put it on the flattest section of a large rock. Dorothea daintily sat on it, modestly pulling her skirts down to cover her calf. Darn, he was fun to spar with, especially when he was relaxed and smiling.

  It was a sunny afternoon. After a while, Carter rolled up his shirtsleeves. The sight of those tan, muscular arms did strange things to her stomach. Swallowing hard, she glanced outward, concentrating on her fishing line and pole.

  Despite his claims that it was a well-stocked lake, they caught no fish. Dorothea presumed it was their quiet conversation that kept the fish at bay. He told her of his childhood and she shared a few stories about her sisters. Throughout the afternoon he was quick to smile and laugh, casual about keeping her physically close to him.

  On the way back to the manor, Carter solicitously held her elbow or her gloved hand each time they came to a dip in the path. It was not an overtly sexual touch, but there was an edge of possession in the gesture that she found oddly thrilling.

  It was obvious that he was allowing her the time to make the decision about their physical relationship and Dorothea was grateful. She was also practical. A man as virile as Carter would not wait forever for a reluctant wife to resume her marital duties.

  It had been a good few days. They had spent considerable time together, and each day Carter could practically see another layer of his wife’s resistance melt away. If he continued to play it right, it wouldn’t be long before she was sharing his bed. And enjoying it.

  In his quest to win Dorothea’s trust and regard, Carter had sought to learn her daily routine. He knew that she took a long, leisurely bath nearly every evening before dinner, profusely thanking the staff for carrying up the many buckets of hot water necessary for her to enjoy this sensual indulgence.

  He also knew she took her bath alone, without her maid in the room. It was here Carter prepared to make his next move, for the opportunity to continue his seduction was too good to miss.

  He waited in his chambers until he heard her maid leave. Moving quietly through their shared private sitting room, he pressed his ear to Dorothea’s bedchamber door. A smile lit his face at the sound of a splash. Slowly he turned the latch on the door.

  The tub faced the fireplace, leaving her back toward him. She was humming, and the melodic noise, coupled with her attention to her bath, made it simple for him to enter the room undetected.

  Tendrils of steam rose from the water, surrounding her in an exotic fog. From this angle he could see the slope of her elegant shoulders, the curve of her neck, the sweep of her naked arms as she lifted them from the water to wash herself.

  She was so enticing, Carter had to swallow
back a groan of appreciation. But he could not as easily control the other parts of his anatomy. Worried that he would distress her if she saw the obscene bulge in his breeches, he shifted his position and stood behind a padded chair, which shielded the lower half of his body.

  Then he cleared his throat. Loudly.

  Her head whipped around so fast he winced, fearing she might have injured herself.

  “Carter! My goodness, what are you doing here?”

  “You said to me the other day that you wanted to give me a small token. I have thought on it for some time and have at last decided what it will be.”

  “You want to take a bath with me?” Her voice was a squeak of feminine horror. Not a promising start.

  “That would be a delight beyond measure, my dear. However, all I wish to do is watch you.” He walked out from behind the chair and brought himself next to the tub. “And perhaps soap your back?”

  “That’s perverted.”

  “To be clean? I think not.”

  “You know very well what I mean, Carter.”

  He gazed at her. “My gift to you is the bath. Your gift to me is allowing me the pleasure of watching you in it.”

  “Do all your gifts come with conditions?”

  “Invariably.”

  Her eyebrows drew together as she searched his face, watching closely as if weighing his words. They were a kind of truth. In his experience, gifts were rarely given without the expectation of some sort of return.

  He knelt on the rug. Reaching for her hand so tightly gripping the edge of the tub, he lightly caressed her fingers. “You know very well that I shall leave if you insist, but I think it would better if I stayed.”

  “Better for whom?”

  “Both of us. But mainly for you.” He continued to gently rub her knuckles until he heard her exhale a long, slow breath.

  “You may only stay a short time. The bath is supposed to help me relax.”