Sinful Cravings (Cynfell Brothers Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  By the time he’d finished it was growing dark and his valet would be cursing him about getting him ready in time. However, being fashionably late was not a problem for Lord Jasper Cynfell.

  Once dressed, Jasper stepped out of his London townhouse and took a moment to loosen his necktie that his valet had tied far too tight. The breeze from earlier in the day had died down. No ugly brown hats would be rolling under his carriage today. Miss Foster had appeared quite upset by the incident but, honestly, it really had been the most hideous thing. He’d like to see her in a pretty bonnet trimmed with feathers perhaps. Something in a colour to bring out her hair.

  Perhaps he ought to buy her one...

  No. He shook away the thought as he stepped into the carriage and it rolled off along the cobbled street. He bought gifts for lovers not for disgruntled, umbrella-wielding, uptight prigs. Besides, he was hardly likely to run into her anytime soon. It was clear they ran in different social circles.

  Of course, he could visit her easily enough. After all, he knew in which road she was staying...

  No. Bloody no. What was he thinking? She didn’t want to see him anymore than he wanted to see her again.

  His attention should be on making amends with Constance or maybe finding another conquest. He didn’t much fancy going home alone tonight. Evenings alone were quite the bore when he didn’t have any work to do.

  By the time he arrived at the party, he was more than fashionably late. Thankfully a Cynfell didn’t have to rely on manners. Being the brother of one of the most powerful marquesses in England did that for one. Not to mention, society ladies enjoyed the scandal of having him about. It ensured inches in the gossip columns and something for their guests to talk of.

  He took a glass of wine and headed out into the garden of Lydworth House to observe the gathering. He noted several politicians in the mix along with some of the gentry and nobility. A few of his friends were here—many of them invited for their notoriety too.

  But no Constance.

  She had definitely intended to come so where was she? Damn, there went his plans for the evening. Perhaps he could find someone else to take her place but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if they gave into him in the space of one evening.

  Jasper took a lengthy sip of wine before heading down the stone steps to greet a couple of his friends and find out exactly which eligible maidens were in attendance.

  Too few, it turned out. He’d have a devil of at time finding company tonight. He handed over his empty wine glass to a passing servant and headed toward the buffet at the rear of the garden. Perhaps his friends had simply missed some hidden gem somewhere. He snatched a sandwich from the table and paused to take another look around. A pretty little wallflower wouldn’t be terrible. They were grateful for the attention and he quite enjoyed bringing them out of their shells. But there were no such gems to be found at this party. What a bore. He’d have to make his excuses as soon as he could.

  “Jasper!”

  He swivelled at the female voice and tried not to look disappointed at the sight of his brother’s wife.

  “Viola.” He glanced down at her swollen stomach. “I didn’t think you would be in London. Should you not be resting?”

  Julian, the Marquess of Lockwood, and the oldest Cynfell brother came to his wife’s side and took her hand. “She should be. However, Josephine invited us to an exhibition and apparently we could not decline.”

  “This was not just any exhibition!” Viola declared, her American accent drawing a little attention their way. “Some of the finest paintings of English castles were on display and seeing as though Julian still has many to take me to, I thought it a fine way of seeing them.”

  Jasper chuckled, knowing well of Viola’s passion for castles and all things English. “Your husband has gravely failed you,” he said as seriously as he could.

  “He has indeed. However, after the baby is born, he has promised me a trip to the south coast.”

  Julian gave his wife an indulgent look and drew her closer to him. “And I always fulfil my promises, do I not?”

  “Indeed you do.”

  It never failed to tickle him that his forever grouchy brother was letting himself be overrun by an American heiress and their growing brood of children. With a son and a daughter already, they seemed intent on carrying on the family tradition of having as many children as quickly as possible. As near as he could tell, they were both blissfully happy and though they’d been fairly competitive as boys, he always wanted the best for his brothers.

  “This hardly seems your sort of thing, Julian,” Jasper commented to his brother, who was famous for avoiding all things sociable. As far as brothers went, they could not be more opposite.

  “Viola decided it would be impolite to decline but we are leaving any moment now, are we not?” he prompted his wife.

  She rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yes, apparently I am far too delicate for garden parties.”

  Julian ignored the dry tone and merely grinned. “You need your rest.”

  “I shall likely get no rest,” Viola muttered and Jasper shook his head.

  “I do not think I should be privy to these conversations.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Of all people, I should not think such talk offends your sensibilities, Jasper.”

  “My dear sister, it seems you have me marked as a man of great scandal.”

  Eyes twinkling, her smile expanded. “We have been brother and sister for three years, Jasper. There is no sense in trying to fool me or persuade me otherwise.” Julian gave her a small tug on the arm, so she came onto tiptoes to give Jasper a kiss on the cheek. “If I do not get him home before it’s late, he shall be horribly grumpy. I hope we’ll see you at Lockwood soon.”

  “Of course. I have a niece and nephew to spoil rotten, do I not?”

  “As if they need spoiling,” Julian grumbled, but Jasper knew full well Julian was already doting on his nearly three-year-old daughter, Ivy, and that the rest of the children would be equally spoiled.

  “I also have a need to visit the countryside to do some more studies.”

  His brother lifted a brow. “Stars still? Jasper, for a rake, you really are a bore.”

  He ignored the insult. “I cannot see them in London. The pollution is too great.”

  “You are welcome anytime,” Viola put in diplomatically.

  “Excellent. Give a kiss to Ivy and James for me, and tell Ivy his Uncle Jasper shall be bringing some chocolate with him next time.”

  His brother and his wife said their goodbyes, with a few more grunts from Julian, and he watched them leave the party with amusement. His adored his niece and nephew and he couldn’t help imagine himself in the same position—looking after a child. He’d seen his brother take to the challenge with relish and it was something that appealed to him also. No one would think Jasper Cynfell was interested in children but the thought of a child to educate and protect appealed to him.

  As he reached for another sandwich and pondered the dire garden party, a rustle sounded from the bush behind the table and he twisted with a scowl. A fox? A rabbit? Bold creature indeed to be slipping into a busy party to steal food. But no fluffy little thing emerged from the bushes. Instead, first came a slender hand, wriggling its fingers at him. Then an arm. Next came some skirts. Definitely female. A foot popped out from underneath the tight skirt and he eyed the boot attached to it.

  He recognised that boot.

  The head came next and he grinned when her gaze met his. Miss Foster’s mouth dropped open and instant colour flooded her face. She looked like some kind of tree nymph, with leaves strewn in her hair and surrounding her. She wriggled again but made no more progress. Her face was now almost red all over. He bit back a laugh.

  “Is all well?” he asked, as though there was nothing more common than a woman trying to sneak her way into a party through a bush. She really must want to attend very badly. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a dull party.
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  “Yes,” she replied brightly then the leaves jostled while she fought against them again. The movement stopped and her head dropped. “I’m stuck,” she whispered.

  Jasper moved around the buffet, glancing about to see if they’d been spotted. Thankfully he was the only witness to her embarrassment. Perhaps this party wasn’t so dull after all.

  “Pardon?” he said to the tree woman.

  “I am stuck,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, that is a problem.”

  She released an audible breath. He could practically hear her fury in it. “Could you help me?”

  “I’m not sure...” He couldn’t resist letting his grin expand.

  “Please? Please, my lord, will you help me?”

  The words must have killed her. They came out tight and strained. Even he couldn’t let her continue to suffer. He latched a hand around her arm and pushed aside some of the bush and tugged.

  To no avail. She was stuck fast.

  He moved closer and pressed his arm into the bush. He found her waist and latched an arm about it. He tried not to think about how wonderful she felt beneath her jacket. With one pull, and a rip of fabric that made him wince, he had her free. She pushed quickly away from him and almost stumbled back to where she came from until he snatched her arm and steadied her.

  Miss Foster did a fine job of trying to appear completely normal. She pushed aside a light brown strand of loose hair and plucked a leaf from it. However, there was nothing normal about her.

  This woman was utterly bonkers, Jasper had to conclude. He had to admit, he liked it. Normal, much like this party, was becoming increasingly boring.

  She looked up at him, colour still warm on her cheeks and her lips moved.

  “Pardon?”

  “Thank you,” she repeated, a little louder this time.

  “Do not thank me yet. Your skirt is torn.”

  She let out a little gasp and did a twirl in an effort to spot the rip. He groaned inwardly. Not only had her skirts torn at the back, revealing a lacy petticoat, but her shirt had too. Underneath her jacket, the white cotton gaped, giving him a glimpse of her undergarments.

  “Miss Foster,” he hissed, taking up her arm once more and easing her back away from the party. “Look down.”

  “What?” She glanced down herself and gasped. “Oh no.” Tearing her arm from his, she fumbled to cover herself with her jacket but it only did up to just underneath her breasts.

  “Perhaps you will allow me to escort you out of here?”

  A sheen of moisture revealed itself in her eyes. He almost felt bad for laughing at her.

  “I cannot very well walk past all these people.”

  “There is a rear entrance.” He led her toward the narrow, quite rusty and unused gate. With a strong push, he had the thing open and they were out into the lamp-lit street. “A lot easier than exit by bush, I find.”

  A spluttered laugh escaped her, taking him by surprise. He peered down at her but the smile had vanished and she was back to being the prim miss once more. With the exception of her torn clothes and gaping shirt. She let out another sound of indignation and clutched the cotton together.

  “Do not look!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled. But the truth was, the sight of that lace, no matter how prim and simple it was, would remain indelibly marked on his mind. He looked up the street, empty save from a few workers and the carriages parked for the party. “You won’t find a carriage at this time of night.”

  “I can walk.”

  “You bloody well cannot. What sort of gentleman would I be to let a woman walk alone in London at night?”

  “From what I’ve heard you’re no gentleman at all. I am not sure I would be any safer with you than out on the streets.”

  “Touché.” He put on his most serious expression and turned to face her. “Miss Foster, my house is not far from here and I have some women’s garments that are likely to fit. Let me escort you there. At least then you shall not have to return home looking like you’ve been ravaged.” He lifted a hand as if giving an oath. “I promise I will be nothing but gentlemanly.”

  Her gaze narrowed on him and she studied him for quite some time. Jasper fought the desire to tug at his necktie. Finally, she nodded. “As you will.”

  “So grateful,” he murmured with a chuckle.

  Jasper managed to slip her into his carriage easily enough without being spotted. He settled opposite her and latched his gaze onto the embroidery of the seat next to her. Somehow the knowledge that there were breasts beneath those undergarments plagued him. Which was ridiculous. He’d seen more breasts than most men, of all shapes and sizes. Why should starchy Miss Foster’s breasts interest him?

  Thankfully he didn’t have too much time to ponder that as the streets were quieter than when he’d headed out. The carriage came to a stop in front of his house on Queen Anne’s Gate and he aided Miss Foster down, narrowly avoiding another glimpse of lace. Leering at women’s undergarments was not gentlemanly. Had he not promised to be gentlemanly?

  In truth, he was probably a little out of practice but it wouldn’t hurt to try, he supposed.

  His butler opened the double black doors for him, revealing only the tiniest bit of surprise on his face at the early return of his master with a rather unusual woman in tow. Not at all like his usual conquests, he was willing to bet the butler would be saying to the rest of his staff later.

  “Have some tea brought into the library if you will,” he ordered the butler and ushered Miss Foster through the hallway toward the library. The fire would be lit there and a chill had seeped into the evening. With only a thin jacket and a ripped shirt, he imagined she’d be a little cold. Though her bountiful curves might keep her a little warmer than some women.

  Jasper forced his gaze away from her rear. There he went again. First it was her breasts, now it was her arse. He couldn’t help imagining what her full rear would feel like against his palms. It was the kind of arse that a man could squeeze and mould and pull onto him as she rode him.

  Oh bloody hell. Now he was getting hard. Over Miss Foster of all people.

  Miss Foster did a little turn about the room, running her fingers over the spines of the books. The move interested him. It was bold and made her appear as though she practically owned the place. She really wasn’t a meek little miss.

  “Will you have a seat? Fredericks will be here with warm tea in but a moment.”

  She turned wide eyes on him almost as if she’d forgotten he was there before nodding and settling onto the chair on the other side of his desk. Though tempted to sit behind his desk and hide his growing arousal, he doubted very much she’d notice and he didn’t want to appear anymore intimidating. After all she was alone in his house. Thankfully Miss Foster was the sort of innocent virgin who had never even heard of sex let alone understood what the bulge in a man’s trousers could mean.

  He sat next to her. Far enough away that he could casually cross his legs and hide the evidence of his thoughts. Just in case. But close enough so that he could reach over and stroke her thigh if he wished. Not that he was going to do so.

  He settled back against the chair while she shifted in her seat, twining her gloved hands together. “Now, will you tell me exactly why you were sneaking into that party?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Miss Foster?”

  She flung a reluctant look his way. “I was trying to get information.”

  “Was that why you were also at the wine bar?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled.

  “You know, you need only ask.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”

  “In case you hadn’t realised, I do tend to be in the thick of things. If there is something you wish to know, I’m fairly certain I can find it out for you.”

  “That did occur to me after we’d met,” she admitted quietly.

  “So, what is it, Miss Foster, that is driving you to
such extremes?”

  Miss Foster stared at her fingers again before seeming to come to a decision. Chin lifted, she met his gaze. “My sister is missing. She has been gone for over a week now.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes. She was staying with my aunt but it seems my sister kept her in ignorance as to her antics. Then one day she simply didn’t return home. My aunt sent word and I came to London as soon as I could.”

  “What about your father? Your mother? Should they not be looking for her?”

  “They are in Yorkshire at present, and for that I’m grateful. It would distress them most grievously.”

  “So you are gallivanting around London in the hopes of finding her?”

  “Or some information at least! Not even her friends can tell me where she went. She had been most mysterious. Her dearest friend mentioned the garden party at Lydworth House. She said Emma had talked of a gentleman attending there whom she was keen to see. I thought—”

  “Wait. Emma Foster?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. If he hadn’t been so arrogant maybe he would have considered the connection with more seriousness.

  “Do you know her?”

  “I did. I do.”

  Her mouth rounded. “But how? I meant to say, she’s no one of consequence, why would you—” Her brow furrowed. “You took advantage of her, did you not?” A finger jabbed his way and she stood, her chest puffed with indignation. It did little to quell his need. “She is pretty and young and has lived most of her life in the country. What easier conquest could there be? You, my lord, as despicable, you really are—”

  Jasper stood and snatched the finger pointed his way as it threatened to jab into his chest. This woman was lethal even without an umbrella.

  “Now, wait a minute. I never touched your sister. Even I have some scruples, no matter what your opinion is of me, Miss Foster.”

  “You never—” Her shoulders sagged. “Oh.”

  They were interrupted by the timely arrival of the butler and some tea and cake. Jasper motioned for her to sit once more and poured the tea. He didn’t ask how many sugars and made it sweet. The woman’s hands trembled. She needed the sugar.