How To Seduce A Sinner

by Adrienne Basso

  To emphasize her point, Dorothea rocked herself forward. Carter sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Her hands slid down to the taut muscles of his buttocks and she pulled him closer. The heat of his body surrounded her and the longing deep inside her rose to meet it.

  She heard the bed creak in a deliberate, steady rhythm as he thrust forward. At her urging, he increased the pace, working faster, cramming himself deep inside. She felt every thrust, every sensation. It was glorious. In this moment they were more than husband and wife. They were lovers, joined in body, in heart, in spirit.

  She felt his hand slid down to her hip, twisting its way between their joined bodies, his long fingers searching until he found her core. He stroked her moist, sensitive folds while his penis continued to thrust deep and hard inside her.

  Their mating took on a new urgency and the world around her disappeared as the tremors within her began. She tangled her hands in his hair and cried out, clinging to him as her body rode a wave of pure, intense ecstasy.

  She reached completion first, but Carter soon followed. She let out a soft sob of emotion and wrapped herself even tighter around him as he shuddered violently, spilling his warm, wet seed deep inside her.

  They lay entwined for a long time afterward, Dorothea curled on her side, her head nestled on Carter’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. Her mind drifted on a pleasant, hopeful haze as she contemplated their future. Surely if she could cobble enough of these moments together the emotional intimacy she craved so desperately would develop?

  “It’s been a good day,” he whispered.

  “Indeed. A memorable one.” She smiled. “Happiness may be ever fleeting, but at this precise moment in time, I feel it deeply.”

  “As do I.”

  And with those comforting words, Dorothea fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  It was a festive atmosphere the following morning around the breakfast table. Emma had risen early and gotten a second look at the newborn twins. She reported that Gwendolyn had spent a peaceful night, while Jason had spent his time scuttling between his wife’s chamber and the nursery. According to Emma, they were all planning on sleeping in, well, at least until the twins decided they were ready for their next feeding.

  Lord Fairhurst had sent word to his wife and parents, as well as his sister, Lady Meredith, and they were expected to arrive after lunch. As Dorothea consulted with the cook over the menus for the next few days, a message arrived for Carter.

  “It’s from my father,” Carter explained after he read the missive. “He requests my immediate presence in London on a matter of grave importance.”

  “Do you think he has taken sick?” Dorothea asked worriedly. Though she still had a somewhat adversarial relationship with her father-in-law, she did not wish him ill.

  “He mentions nothing of his health,” Carter answered. “This appears to be some sort of family emergency.”

  Dorothea hastily scribbled a few notes on the menu she was consulting. “I can be ready to leave within the hour.”

  Carter shook his head. “There is no need for you to rush away. I know you wish to spend more time with your family. I will ride to Town and see my father and then hopefully return before nightfall.”

  Dorothea caught his wrist and met his gaze. “Are you certain?”

  “I am. Besides, it will be faster traveling on horseback than in the carriage.”

  “Then, may I beg a favor?”

  His eyes brightened with interest and she found herself blushing. “In my haste to get here yesterday, I forgot to bring Gwendolyn’s gift from Ravenswood. There is a hat box from Mrs. Jenkins’s millinery in my room. Would you kindly bring it back with you when you return?”

  Carter blinked. “You can’t mean that overly decorated bonnet that resembled a bowl of fruit?”

  “The very same. I believe my sister deserves a hearty laugh after all she has endured.”

  Carter laughingly agreed, then left to make the arrangements for his departure.

  Though the mood of the household was jubilant, Dorothea felt an odd sense of melancholy once Carter had gone. Knowing Gwendolyn and the babies were sleeping, Dorothea decided to take a stroll outdoors and enjoy the morning sunshine.

  She followed several marked paths through the formal section of the gardens, then ventured down to the parkland. It was cool and comforting. She emerged from a shaded section of hedgerows and squinted against the sudden brightness of sunlight. It was then she noticed a figure in the distance walking purposefully toward her. A male figure. Carter?

  Her heart lifted at the notion and she quickened her step. “Major Roddington?” Dorothea questioned as she drew nearer and caught a glimpse of the gentleman’s face. “Goodness, this is a surprise.”

  “A pleasant one, I hope.”

  “Yes, of course.” She smiled in welcome, though her mind still registered shock. What in heaven’s name was he doing here? “Is there something specific that brings you to this area?”

  He smiled, a crooked, mirthless grin. “Why, I am here to see you.”

  “Oh?” His odd manner, as well as his words, brought a queasy sensation to her stomach. She did not remember ever telling him specifically where Gwendolyn and Jason lived, nor did she tell him that she was coming here to visit them. Obviously he had followed her. But why? “Shall we go up to the house and partake of some refreshments?” she suggested.

  Her nerve endings tingling, Dorothea stepped forward, but the major swiftly moved to block her path. “There’s no need to disturb your sister’s household. We have sufficient privacy here.”

  “Nonsense. We shall be far more comfortable sitting in front of a warm fire.”

  All trace of the major’s smile vanished. “I’m afraid I really must insist that we not go up to the house.”

  Dorothea’s initial instinct was to turn around and flee, but astonishment held her paralyzed. He was not overtly threatening, yet his strange behavior seemed so out of character, so unlike the kind, even-tempered, gallant gentleman she knew. She shifted her puzzled gaze to his face and he quickly looked away, but not before she caught the expression of uncertainty in his eyes.

  What was this all about? Dorothea scowled, trying to ignore the shiver of anxiety curling in her chest. They were alone, isolated. If things did become ugly or out of hand, there was no one in the vicinity who could come to her aid.

  “You are scaring me, Roddy,” she declared on a shaky breath. With feigned calm she once again attempted to walk past him, but he would not allow her.

  “I apologize. I never wanted to bring you into this mess, but things have gone badly, very badly, and I need your help.” His features went taut and he appeared to be struggling with a difficult choice.

  Dorothea shook her skepticism aside and tried to tamp down her fear. And then the major began to speak, to tell her a tale so incredible she was speechless. His voice was low, emotionless, but his words were powerful. She heard every word, but understanding them was a slow, confusing process.

  A part of her could not credit what he was saying, could not believe such an absurd tale. Yet as she stared intently into his face she clearly saw depths of misery in his eyes. At that moment, her hesitation dissolved. There was too much passion and pain for this to be a lie. Her eyes misted in sympathy, and Dorothea reacted instinctively, from the heart.

  She reached her arms around Roddy’s broad shoulders and pulled him into a comforting hug. For a long moment the major’s arms hung at his sides and then slowly he moved them around her.

  “You believe me?” he whispered.

  “Of course!”

  “Thank you.”

  Dorothea closed her eyes and held tightly, but suddenly Roddy was harshly wrenched away. She heard a masculine grunt of surprise, followed by the distinct crack of a closed fist connecting with flesh and bone.

  Horrified, she watched the major recover his balance and stare in shock at the man who had so unceremoniously assaulted him.

  “Carter!�
�� Dorothea’s heart lurched. “What are you doing here? I thought you left for London hours ago.”

  “Was that the plan, Dorothea?” Carter barked, his voice panting with anger. “Wait until I was gone before meeting with your lover?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Even if there were any truth to that absurd notion, how would I have known you were leaving this morning? ’Twas the note from your father that summoned you away.”

  Carter’s eyes blazed with stormy, self-righteous indignation. “If Roddington was lurking nearby, it would be easy enough to send him a message when the opportunity presented itself. The beauty of it all is that I would have been none the wiser, but my horse threw a shoe a few miles into my journey and I had to walk him slowly back to the house.”

  Dorothea tried to ignore Carter’s icy disdain, but his accusations hurt. How could he believe that she would turn to another man when she so clearly loved him?

  “Do you trust me so little?” she asked in a burst of vexation.

  He ignored her and turned to Roddy. “’Tis a bit of a cliché to ask what you are doing with my wife, when my eyes clearly tell me,” Carter said, his expression closed and thunderous.

  “Stop it!” Dorothea shouted. “You have it all wrong, Carter! Major Roddington came to speak with me on a matter of extreme importance.”

  “What matter?”

  “A personal matter.”

  “Between lovers?” Carter mocked.

  “Between friends,” Dorothea insisted.

  Now what? Would the major reveal the truth to Carter? She cast her eyes over at Roddy and they exchanged a silent look.

  A look that Carter caught, and it further enraged his already escalating temper. “God help me, I shall not be made a fool,” he cried, lunging forward, fists clenched.

  Heedless of her own safety, Dorothea placed herself between the two combatants. Carter tried to move her out of the way, but she would not budge.

  “Give me one good reason why I should not blacken both his eyes?” Carter bellowed in rage.

  “He is not my lover,” Dorothea declared in a desperate tone. “Major Roddington is your brother.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Carter felt his body sway. He lifted his face to the sun and fleetingly closed his eyes, searching for divine intervention. Surely he had not heard Dorothea correctly. My brother? Impossible!

  A gust of wind rustled the leaves in the trees, but he barely felt the breeze, barely felt the sting on his knuckles from the blow he had landed on Roddington’s jaw.

  “Carter?” Dorothea’s voice was soft, questioning. A moment of utter silence settled over the garden and then he tilted his head from the sun’s glare and looked directly at his wife. “You are out of your mind!” Carter exclaimed breathlessly. “How can he possibly be my brother?”

  “Your half-brother.” An uneasy expression flitted over her face. “It’s the truth, Carter. That’s why the major is here, to tell me.”

  “And you believed him!” Carter shook his head vigorously. “’Tis a lie. A bald-faced lie.”

  Dorothea’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Please, Carter, you must listen to him before you make such a hasty judgment.”

  Why was she crying? For him or for Roddington? Carter held up a commanding hand, hoping to silence her. He needed time to think. “I refuse to listen to this rubbish,” he said forcefully, directing his words at the major.

  Roddington folded his arms and stared back at him arrogantly. “I told her this is how you would react,” he said bitterly.

  “No!” Dorothea exclaimed quickly. “Carter is not like the duke. He is a reasonable man. He will listen. Tell him, Roddy.”

  Her fingers gripped Carter’s forearm, pleading with him to stay. He resisted shrugging her off, though every instinct screamed at him to turn and storm away. She was so intent, so emotional. He would listen, refute the lies, and then leave.

  It took a moment for the major to find his voice. “My mother was a genteel woman, the daughter of a knight,” the major began. “She was raised in comfort, as befitting a lady, but when her father died he left debts for his only child. Once they were paid, there was very little money. She had no dowry and no desire to be a burden on her relatives, so she was forced to earn her way in the world.”

  Carter snorted. God help him if Roddington said his mother had become the duke’s mistress. He would smash his nose, no matter how emotional Dorothea became. It was a well-known fact that the Duke of Hansborough adored his wife and was a loyal and faithful husband.

  As if reading the direction of Carter’s thoughts, Roddington scowled. “She found employment as a governess,” he said with emphasis.

  “My governess was a woman I remember fondly,” Carter replied. “She was a family retainer who had also taken charge of my father when he was a boy. A female far too old to have given birth to you.”

  “I never claimed my mother was hired to care for you,” Roddington shot back. “It was not her employer who violated her trust, who took advantage of a young, pretty, helpless woman. It was the duke who resided on the neighboring estate who seduced her and then abandoned her to bear the child alone and in shame.”

  “Who was your mother’s employer?” Dorothea asked.

  “Lord and Lady Alderton.”

  “That proves nothing!” Carter shouted, though he was rattled to hear the name. The Aldertons’ estate bordered on Ravenswood Manor and his father was the only duke in that county.

  Dorothea looked stricken. “Your father has a great dislike of Lord and Lady Alderton. Perhaps the origin of the feud has something to do with this mess.”

  Carter shifted his weight uncomfortably. Snippets of conversation came to mind. Things he had overheard as a child, words spoken in anger between his parents, words that made no sense, had no meaning. Until now.

  “I certainly require more proof than the odd happenstance of Roddington’s mother once being employed by the Aldertons,” Carter declared. “If that’s even true.”

  “That is easy enough to verify,” Roddington countered. “As for the rest, as far as I know, my mother never publicly stated who had fathered her child. She only revealed the truth to me as she lay dying.”

  Dorothea set her fingers against her temple. “There must be some record, some kind of documents?”

  “There were letters,” Roddington said.

  “Letters can be forged.” Carter replied.

  Roddington lifted both eyebrows. “How like your father, you are, Atwood. When I presented myself to him, those were his exact words.”

  “You’ve spoken with the duke?”

  “Yes. Twice, actually.” The major lowered his head and stared at his boots. “The first time I was fifteen. I started for London the day after I buried my mother. It took me a few weeks to arrive and several days before I managed to waylay the duke on the street outside of his club.

  “There I was, a green, naïve lad, grieving the loss of the only person who had ever loved me, facing the man who had ruined her life, ruined both of our lives. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t hate him.”

  “What happened?” Dorothea asked.

  “He gave me his card and told me to call at his house later that day. And so I arrived, filled with false hope and armed with the letters he had written to my mother.

  “The duke listened intently to every word I spoke. Then he had a footman toss me out on the street. But before I left, he threatened to have me arrested and thrown into prison if I ever dared to breathe a word of these filthy lies.”

  The suppressed anger and resentment simmering deep inside Roddington was visible now. The major’s eyes had gone dark and fierce. His hands were fisted tightly as if he would strike out if given the chance.

  “Where are the letters?” Carter asked, watching the stiff set of Roddington’s posture, trying to ascertain if he was telling the truth.

  “He took them. I have no doubt they were tossed in the fire before my backside hit the street outside his fan
cy London mansion.” Though he tried to keep his tone emotionless, the pain in Roddington’s voice was raw.

  “You said you have spoken with the duke twice,” Dorothea prompted.

  “I saw him again this morning. It was rather simple gaining access to the house now that I am known to the household staff.”

  The major stared pointedly at Dorothea and Carter realized what he meant. Roddington was frequently escorting her to society events. The duke’s household would not think anything amiss if the major came to call. This was troubling. Carter wondered how deep the wounds of rejection went, how bitter the resentment tasted. Enough to do harm? To the duke?

  Carter quickly surmised the urgent note from the duke he received this morning must be about the situation with Roddington. “What have you done?” Carter asked, his nerves suddenly on edge.

  “Worried?” the major whispered in a combative tone.

  Carter reflexively closed his fist, longing to have it connect with Roddington’s face. He’d have liked nothing more than to see the major’s eyes widen, his head snap back, and his arms flail as he tried to keep his balance and stay on his feet.

  Yet something held his temper in check, kept his fists at his sides. “If you are here, running to my wife with your sorrowful tales, then the duke must have thrown you out. Again.”

  “Oh, no.” Roddington’s voice iced over. “I left of my own accord. The decision of how we proceed is now in the hands of the duke.”

  “What do you want?” Carter asked crisply, inwardly flinching at the sudden flash of light in the major’s eyes. That did not bode well.

  “I want the duke to stand before me and admit what he did, acknowledge that he acted in a heartless, dishonorable manner, and then I want him to beg my forgiveness, on behalf of my mother, for his cruelty and neglect.”

  A startled female gasp echoed through the silence. Carter turned and saw Dorothea clutching the fabric of her skirt as she tried to stop her hands from shaking. “The duke is a proud man,” Dorothea ventured. “Even if your claim were proven, I am uncertain he would be agreeable to such a request.”