How To Seduce A Sinner

by Adrienne Basso

  Tonight was no exception. As she reached the landing on the center staircase, the duke appeared from the opposite wing. Dorothea blinked. Had he been lying in wait for her? It seemed so blatantly absurd, and yet his timing was too perfect for this to be mere happenstance.

  “Where are you off to tonight?” the duke asked.

  Dorothea tried to ignore his scrutinizing glare, but it was difficult. She always squirmed so desperately inside when he studied her, for it felt as if he was judging her, measuring her worth. Measuring and concluding she was worth very little.

  “Lady Halifax is hosting a charity ball at Almack’s.”

  “Will my son be there?”

  “Probably not. He has no great affection for Lady Halifax or her charitable efforts.”

  One corner of the duke’s mouth eased slightly upward. Most would consider it a hint of a smile. Dorothea knew better.

  “Who is your escort?” he wanted to know.

  “The major.”

  “Again? I vow you see more of him than your husband.”

  She snapped her gaze up to his, trembling, yet determined to hide the wound inflicted by the truth of his words. “That is hardly my choice.”

  The duke grunted with impatience. “A clever woman knows how to keep a man by her side. And in her bed. I want to hold my heir in my arms before I die, young lady.”

  “Then I advise you to watch your health most carefully, Your Grace, to ensure that you live for many, many years.” Reaching down, Dorothea gathered the skirt of her gown by her fingertips and held it above her evening slippers to prevent herself from tripping. The gesture also helped conceal the trembling of her hands. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m certain the major has arrived. I do not wish to be rude and keep him waiting.”

  Dismissing the duke, she moved past him, ignoring the prickling sensation she felt on the nape of her neck. She glided down the main staircase gracefully, her head high, her back straight. Roddy, bless his heart, was indeed waiting in the front foyer and she practically fell into his arms.

  She heard the duke’s deep, commanding voice call to her, but she kept moving, her mind focused on escaping. For a few hours at least, she was determined to forget the unhappy state of her circumstances.

  Major Roddington’s heels clicked on the polished marbled floor as he paced impatiently in the foyer. He had been told Lady Atwood would be down shortly and been asked to wait. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, but being kept out of the private rooms of this particular house gnawed at his gut. It was a stark reminder of how he had failed to complete his task, of how the passing of time was only making this more difficult, more challenging.

  Lady Atwood suddenly appeared, a tight smile of greeting on her face. Above her, Roddy could hear a voice of masculine discontent.

  “Is that Lord Atwood shouting at you?” he asked.

  “No, it’s the duke.”

  She gestured toward a footman, who held out a silk evening cloak, but Roddy was no longer paying attention to her. At the sound of that same, low masculine voice, his head swung toward the landing and he felt a sudden, quick explosion of emotions. Close. He was so close.

  He glanced up. At the sight of the elderly man clutching the banister with outstretched arms and frowning with such clear disapproval, a coldness like he had never felt seeped into Roddy’s bones. Oh, he had seen the duke before, but always from a great distance or in a very crowded room. This was the first time since he was a lad of fifteen that he had been so near the all-powerful Duke of Hansborough.

  The temptation was almost too great. Yet Roddy straightened, his inner discipline overtaking his impulsive inclination to rush up the staircase and have his say. Now was not the time for confrontation.

  “He sounds angry,” Roddy commented.

  “I believe that is his normal tone.” She tugged on her evening gloves and hastened toward the door. “Shall we?”

  Roddy’s eyes narrowed. He had come to know a bit about Dorothea over these last few days and he found her to be a pleasant, congenial woman. Her stiff, formal reticence was clearly out of character and obviously caused by the duke.

  He escorted her silently from the house and assisted her into the carriage, then waited until the vehicle had rounded the corner before speaking. “Did you have a disagreement with the duke?”

  She glanced over at him, her face pale in the moonlight. “His Grace finds much at fault with me. I fear the only way I shall ever gain his true approval is to present him with a grandson.”

  She blushed and Roddy realized she felt embarrassed at discussing something so intensely personal with a man who was not her husband. It made him feel like a real cad for even bringing the subject up.

  “Well, I hope you present him with a whole pack of boys, each as sour-tempered as his grandfather.”

  She smiled, as he intended, and they let the matter drop. But the incident made Roddy start to wonder. Where was Atwood tonight? Why wasn’t he there to defend his bride, to shelter her from the duke’s barbs?

  They were newly married, yet as far as Roddy could tell, Atwood spent most of his time away from his wife. He had seen him at Tattersall’s yesterday, the boxing club the day before, and a local gaming hell last night.

  He knew it was society’s way for married couples to live separate lives, but this seemed to drift beyond acceptable standards. Roddy gritted his teeth and gazed out the window, deciding this was yet another prime example of how the wealthy, spoiled aristocracy did not appreciate the real treasures in their lives.

  “I’m for home,” Benton announced as he threw down his losing hand of cards.

  Peter Dawson smiled in appreciation and raked in the substantial pile of coins. “Are you sure you won’t play one more round?”

  “No. I wish to leave before my pockets are totally empty.” Benton turned to Carter. “And what of you, Atwood? Are you done for the night? Ready to go home at last to your lovely bride?”

  Carter felt his jaw twitch. It was uttered in jest, but the barb struck at the heart. Though nothing directly had been said, Carter knew his friends wondered why he was not at home with his wife, but instead spending all of his evenings, and most of his days, out with them.

  In fact, his life was going on exactly as it had before he had married. Actually, a bit better, since he was no longer plagued by the duke to find himself a wife. So why didn’t he feel more content with the arrangement?

  “Tell me, what is your opinion of love?” Carter asked.

  The viscount paused in the act of putting on his coat, his expression curious. “Love of what? Drink? A new set of prime cattle? A pair of well-fitted, perfectly polished boots?”

  “A woman,” Carter snorted. Perfectly polished boots, indeed.

  Benton fell silent. “Dear God, don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with your wife?” he finally asked.

  Carter shook his head. “No, but I fear she might fancy herself in love with me.”

  Benton’s brow lifted skeptically. “There is little to fear. She is a reasonably intelligent creature, well, for a woman. She will come to her senses soon enough and realize her mistake.”

  “Don’t listen to Benton,” Dawson interrupted. He stacked the deck of cards and left it in the center of the table. “I think it’s bloody marvelous. Lady Atwood is a fine woman. You deserve the happiness her love and affection will bring you.”

  Was Dawson right? Should he just accept this gift of love and be content with it? But with love came the expectation of reciprocation, and therein lay the rub, for what Carter feared most was that he was incapable of loving her. Wholly, completely, the way she deserved.

  She was his wife. He respected her. Adored her, really. They could build a solid, happy life together. It was what they agreed before they married, it was what they both wanted. And in his eyes, the volatile emotion of love seemed to threaten that stability.

  Didn’t love take time to develop, time to grow? How could Dorothea be so sure, when he was so conflicted?


  It made him feel weak and foolish not to know his mind, not to understand his own emotions. It made him feel unsure, unsteady, inept. He reasoned by keeping his distance from Dorothea these past few days, the problem would somehow sort itself out, the solution would become clear.

  Alas, he had been wrong. Just because he refused to confront the dilemma did not mean it did not exist.

  The biggest irony of all was that he cared for her too much, respected her too much to declare an undying love until he was certain it was what he truly felt.

  Carter jerked to his feet. He signaled for his coat to no one specifically and a servant raced off to fetch the garment. The three friends parted ways outside the gaming club, entering their respective carriages. Carter’s mood was reflective on the ride back to the duke’s mansion.

  The hour was late when he arrived home. Carter dismissed his valet the moment he entered the bedchamber. Dunsford had a hovering, fussy air about him tonight that Carter found particularly annoying. The valet left in a snit, and a few moments later there was a soft knock.

  Carter turned toward the door, ready to bellow at his servant to stay the hell away, when the interior door to the shared sitting room opened and Dorothea glided into the room.

  She was dressed for bed in a long blue satin nightgown that dipped low in front, exposing the plump roundness of her lovely breasts. Her hair was unbound, floating around her shoulders in a shimmering golden wave.

  Carter’s groin tightened at the sight of her delicate, sensual beauty. He was hard before she made it halfway into the chamber.

  “Forgive my intrusion.” Her hand went to her throat and he could see the slight trembling of her hand. “I waited up to tell you that I will be leaving in the morning. I’m going to visit my sister Gwen and will most likely spend a day or two with her and Jason.”

  It took a moment for Carter to wrap his brain around her words. She was leaving him? No, that wasn’t what she said. She was visiting her sister. Gwendolyn. The pretty woman with the very pregnant belly. He slowly regained his breath. “Is there any news of her child?”

  Her eyes widened as though she was surprised he remembered. “The baby is due to arrive at any time. Emma writes that Gwen is very cross and weepy and Jason is nearly out of his mind trying to hide his worry and keep her distracted.”

  “It sounds as if you are needed.”

  “I am.” She nodded her head. “Yet I confess it will also help me to feel useful.”

  Her comment rankled, for it implied she felt useless here. His fault? Probably. “I’ll take you,” he said gruffly.

  “There is no need. The duke has put his carriage at my disposal. The journey takes no more than a few hours, so his coachman and equipment will return in the same day. I can send word if I need transportation back to London, though I imagine my brother-in-law will be pleased to have me use his vehicle.”

  Her independent, self-sufficient attitude irritated Carter. Which was ridiculous, since he had been the one to foster it upon her by his neglect.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he said impulsively, fighting to keep his smile from turning predatory.

  She lowered her gaze and her cheeks reddened. “My monthly courses are just ending.”

  Ah, so that question was answered. He had wondered, but didn’t want to ask if she was carrying their child. The duke would be angry, but Carter didn’t care. Dorothea wasn’t breeding and he felt a rush of relief. Pregnancy was dangerous business for a woman.

  “That doesn’t matter, especially since you are at the end of your cycle. We can be inventive.” He smiled coaxingly, but then noticed the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes, the fine lines of tension etched on her lovely face. Clearly she was tired, and here he was acting like a perfect ass. “Or we could just sleep together.”

  “You wouldn’t mind having me in your bed just to sleep?”

  His throat suddenly felt too tight to speak. Lord, he was a bounder if his wife believed he only wanted her around to satisfy his sexual urges.

  “Come to bed, Dorothea.” He held out his hand.

  For an instant she didn’t move. Then she drew in a long sigh and came close, stopping in front of him. “I have missed you, Carter.”

  Her simple truth cut him deep. He might not be capable of loving her with the devotion and intensity she deserved, but he could show her that he did care. He could be kinder, more considerate toward her. It was the very least she deserved.

  He blew out the candles and helped her into his bed. Tossing off his shirt and breeches, he climbed naked between the sheets and cradled her in his arms. Darkness surrounded them, forming a cocoon of peace. Carter kissed her temple and she snuggled close.

  And in that moment, Carter knew a deep sense of peace. No matter what the state of their relationship, she belonged to him. She was his to hold and protect, to comfort and encourage. And that pleased him mightily.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dorothea had not expected calm when they arrived at Jason and Gwendolyn’s home, which lay on the outskirts of London, a four-hour drive from the center of the city. She knew from her sister Emma’s letters that it had been tense and difficult as a moody, oftentimes weepy Gwendolyn neared the end of her confinement and the birth of her child.

  Children, Dorothea corrected herself silently, for it was a real possibility that her sister would birth twins, a fact that she had shared with no one except Dorothea.

  No, Dorothea had not expected calm to greet them, yet she was far from prepared to face the utter chaos that seemed to grip the house, and every person within it, as she and Carter stepped over the threshold.

  They stood alone in the foyer, the young, confused underfootman who had answered the door by their side. Every few minutes, a servant would thunder up or down the staircase or dash in and out of a door, their expression serious and intent.

  “The family is not receiving callers today,” the underfootman said in a nervous voice. “You should probably come back another time.”

  “Mrs. Barrington is my sister,” Dorothea repeated. “We have come today—”

  “Dorothea!” Emma’s shout from the top of the staircase was a trembling cry of relief. Wasting no time, the young woman rushed down the stairs and caught her older sister in a hug. “Thank God you are here. Gwen is in labor!”

  Dorothea dredged up an overly bright smile. “Isn’t that exciting news? Why, before too long you and I shall be aunts.”

  Emma drew back, her eyes wide. “You don’t understand. It’s been so long already and still the baby hasn’t come.”

  Dorothea closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Oh, Lord, this was her greatest fear. That Gwen would not survive childbirth. It was an inconceivable horror that she had forced herself to disregard, yet the reality loomed before her now, stark and real.

  A solid masculine hand landed on Dorothea’s shoulder, the strong fingers stroking up and down her arm in a gesture of comfort. “When did her pains begin?” Carter asked.

  “They started last night, right after dinner,” Emma answered. “At first it wasn’t too bad. Gwen was even laughing and joking for a time, but things changed dramatically with the dawn. She is in terrible pain. If you stand near her bedchamber door you can hear her scream.”

  A long, serious silence fell. “Take me to her,” Dorothea insisted, as the tightness in her chest refused to ease. Arm in arm the two sisters began to climb the staircase, with Carter following close on their heels.

  “What is the doctor saying about your sister’s condition?” he asked.

  Emma’s brows drew together. “The midwife is with Gwen now.”

  “Where’s the doctor?” Dorothea inquired.

  “Gone.” Emma stopped in mid-staircase and turned to her. “He frightened Gwen and made her cry. So Jason threw him out of the house.”

  “Oh, dear.” Dorothea put her arms around Emma and held her tightly.

  Emma shuddered. “It wasn’t pretty. The butler had to hold Jason back when he lu
nged toward the doctor, fists flying.”

  “What could the doctor have done to cause such a violent reaction?” Carter wanted to know.

  “Jason wouldn’t tell me. But he went pale as a ghost.” Emma shuddered again and leaned into Dorothea. “I’m frightened. She’s been in labor so long. Will the baby never arrive?”

  Dorothea shook her head helplessly. She held Emma tightly, her gaze darting above her sister’s bowed head to meet Carter’s eyes.

  “I’ll speak with Barrington,” he said, understanding her silent plea. “Where is he?”

  “Outside Gwen’s bedchamber,” Emma mumbled, never lifting her head from Dorothea’s comforting embrace.

  Flashing Carter a look of earnest appreciation, Dorothea cradled Emma in her arms and pulled her up the remaining stairs.

  “I sent word to Jason’s brother, Lord Fairhurst, a few hours ago,” Emma confided. “They won’t let me see Gwen and I can offer no comfort to Jason, but I felt I had to do something.”

  “Hush, now, don’t fret,” Dorothea said soothingly. “You’ve done a fine job and I know Gwen is grateful you are here.”

  Seeing the fragile state of Emma’s emotions brought a rush of tears to Dorothea’s eyes. Goodness, she was only sixteen. Far too young to be coping with this crisis.

  It seemed to take forever, but in truth Carter returned after a few minutes. Not liking the frown of worry on her husband’s face, Dorothea sent Emma off to the kitchen to ask for tea to be prepared so they could speak privately.

  “Well?” Dorothea prompted.

  Carter hesitated. “’Tis precisely as Emma said. Barrington is pacing the floorboards outside Gwen’s chamber, nearly out of his mind with worry.”

  “Did you find out why he tried to punch the doctor?”

  Carter’s gaze slid evasively to the floor and her heart went along with it. Oh, no. Dorothea grasped his arm and squeezed tightly. “The truth. Please. I need to know.”