Tempting Sin

by Ann Lethbridge

  “I collect porcelain,” he said.

  Puzzlement filled her expression. “The pieces are so delicate. I’m surprised.” She colored and looked away.

  His short laugh sounded strained to his own ears. He forced himself to relax, to be in control. He knew what she meant. “So unlike anything you would expect me to appreciate?”

  “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “It is you who must forgive me for leaving you so precipitately. I had forgotten Diablo’s visit to the blacksmith today. All our talk of horses reminded me.” A small lie, but it salved his pride, somewhat. He waived a dismissive hand. “Enough of my foibles. I have something more important to discuss.” He paused. How to say this?

  Hope filled her expression. “You have heard from my aunt?”

  “Aunt?”

  “Yes, Aunt Gertrude. Has she replied to our letters?”

  Too bad the aunt hadn’t replied. It would have been the perfect solution. He shook his head. “Not as yet.”

  Distress filled her gaze and he stilled the desire to comfort her by taking in his arms and offering protection from what they both knew was a cruel world. “You are correct. We should have heard from her long before now. I will write to her again. But my desire to speak with you is about another matter entirely.”

  Her gaze rested on his face, her fine, black eyebrows arched in question.

  “I had a visit from Colonel Monteith yesterday afternoon, during your absence at the picnic with your friends.” He frowned. Her disappearance still rankled. “To cut to the chase, he made an offer. He asked for your hand.”

  Thoughts traveled rapidly across her lovely face: confusion, comprehension, fear. Fear of what? That he had said yes? That he had said no? Wariness followed fear. Her hands clenched in her lap. “What did you say?”

  “What did you want me to tell him?”

  “You agreed not to make any decisions without consulting me.”

  “I am consulting you now. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  She got up and strolled to the cluttered console by the window. Her delicate, white fingers traced the outline of an elfin piper perched on a fallen log. Tendrils of green ivy trailed around the artistic version of cracked and pealing bark. He drew in a swift breath, wondering what those exploring fingers would feel like on his skin. On his— Viciously, he cut the thought off.

  She glanced briefly in Simon’s direction, then her fingertips continued their gentle stroking. He almost groaned his frustration.

  “I don’t know him well,” she said. “We danced at Lady Corby’s ball and talked for a few moments only. I am astonished he would make an offer on such a short acquaintance.”

  Simon compelled himself to stop watching her hand. “He informed me he’s been ordered back to India next month. He does not have the time for a lengthy courtship.”

  “India?”

  She sounded breathless. He could not see her face. Did the promise of exotic travel entice her? He kept his voice matter-of-fact. “Yes. I gather he wants the issue of a wife settled before he leaves. His children need a mother.”

  “He has children, then?”

  “Two. Both under five. A boy and a girl. His wife died in childbirth last year.”

  She turned with an expression full of sorrow. “How sad.”

  She had a kind heart. Would a sad story be the key to unlocking it? He shrugged. “Unfortunate. I agree.”

  She hesitated. “He seemed pleasant, a man whom I could respect, but in truth, I do not feel I could agree to marry without knowing more of him, his character and nature.” She shook her head. “I must say no. I hope you will convey my regrets to the colonel.”

  Simon breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. He had not expected her to say yes, but her desperate circumstances and her desire to get out of his house might lead her into doing something she would regret.

  No. Dev provided the best the answer to this dilemma. Simon could live with that. He froze at the mental image of his friend caressing her creamy skin, cradling her slender, shapely form. Simon could bear it, if he didn’t think about it. He spoke calmly. “That is what I told him.”

  She frowned. “You had no business responding before speaking with me.”

  “I reached the same conclusion you did, only earlier.”

  She glared at him. “Still, you had no right.”

  There he was, doing it again, saying things better left unsaid. He never usually explained anything at all to females, but with Victoria, he couldn’t seem to help himself. He raised his eyebrow. “I can tell him I was wrong if you like. Then you can give him the good news yourself.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes and her hand clenched on the ornament. For one interesting moment, Simon thought she would throw it. He braced for impact. She, wouldn’t be the first woman to throw something at him for his arrogance and no doubt she wouldn’t be the last, much as he’d like her to be. The thought rocked him back on his heels, leaving him off balance. Yet again.

  She slowly released relaxed her grip and assumed a calm, superior expression. No destructive tantrums for this young lady, then. He released his breath.

  She tilted her chin at him. “Since you have done no harm, I will say no more. However, I would remind you, we have an agreement. You will not speak on my behalf without consulting me first.”

  He nodded, relieved to be let off so lightly. “Agreed. Come, Miss Yelverton, a truce. We both know you prefer not to reside here. However, rest assured, I have nothing but your best interests in mind.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a silencing hand. “Let me finish.”

  He moved to stand in front of her, determined to hold her attention. Her gaze did not waver under his intense scrutiny. She had more courage than many men of his acquaintance, but she would not be pleased at what he had to say.

  He softened his tone. “On several different occasions, I have found you conversing alone with Viscount Ogden.” He saw a protest on her lips and continued swiftly. “Almost alone then. My attempts to dissuade you from associating with him cannot have escaped your attention.”

  “Dissuade?” she cut in. “You have been positively boorish in your demands.”

  “No matter how you describe it, the results have been the same. You have ignored my instructions. I know he was welcomed in your home as your brother’s friend and while I cannot prevent you from speaking with him at social occasions, it is my duty to remind you that your search is for a bridegroom, not a protector. Ogden’s duty to his family is to marry money. Continue to welcome his advances in private and you will ruin your own chances of a decent match. This is simple common sense.”

  She stepped closer to him, her expression determined. He imagined her slender body pressed against him, his hands exploring her curves. Need throbbed in his veins. He moved to the door and opened it.

  She tipped her head on one side, clearly puzzled by his retreat. “Thank you for your warning, Lord Travis. The viscount also insists he has my welfare at heart. Finding me a bridegroom is your idea, not mine. I would prefer to live with my aunt, or find a position as a governess. Therefore, there is no cause for concern about the ton’s opinions of my friendship with Viscount Ogden.”

  Her lips curved in the sweetest smile she had ever sent his way and it hit him like a blow to the kidneys. Left him breathless and aching and wanting something... He cut the thought off.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

  Little wretch. She’d smiled at him that way on purpose. She was just like all the other females of his acquaintance, using her wiles to get what she wanted. Very well, if the stubborn wench refused to listen to logic, he would forget about using reason. He’d arranged things according to his preferences. “Not quite all. I will now take it upon myself to ensure you receive a suitable offer. To begin with, you will drive with me each afternoon in Hyde Park.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled
ruefully at the horror in her voice. “Not so distasteful, surely? You have been hiding your light under a bushel for far too long. From today, you can expect to be occupied, day and evening. Prepare yourself accordingly. Maria is well aware of my wishes, and she will provide you with a list of the entertainments she has organized. You won’t have time to slip away on picnics or assignations with Viscount Ogden.”

  Let her make of it what she would. For the next few days, she was going to spend as much time with Dev as Simon could manage.

  She opened her mouth to retort and anticipation coursed through his veins. Once more she surprised him. Instead of raking him over the coals, she curtseyed stiffly, a bare inflection of her knees, an imperceptible movement of her proud little head. “If there is nothing else, my lord?”

  Unaccountably disappointed by her refusal to continue crossing swords with him, he shook his head. “Nothing at the moment.” He bowed her out.

  The scent of jasmine lingered long after she vacated the room. He inhaled deeply. He would miss it when she left.

  A pervading sense of loss chilled him to the bone.

  A high-perch phaeton waited at the front door. Its black body, trimmed in silver, hung on the longest, most precarious, swan-neck springs Victoria could imagine. Four beautifully-matched, ebony horses sidled impatiently in the traces.

  It reeked of danger. She hesitated.

  Travis raised an eyebrow. “Does it scare you? Shall I request Maria’s landau be put to instead?”

  She clenched her jaw at his goading. She might be afraid to ride, but she wasn’t going to let him think she was a complete coward. “Certainly not.”

  His mouth flicked up at the corners in a brief smile. Sensing he mocked her, even as he tested her courage, she took a deep breath, tamped down her anxiety and strode to the open carriage door. Heavens. The step was at her waist. She glanced at Travis. Dark lashes swiftly covered a wicked flash of blue.

  “Allow me to assist,” he said.

  His hands encircled her waist. Victoria’s heart skipped and danced to an erratic rhythm.

  Mere inches from her face, his broad chest in a snug black coat with gleaming silver buttons, radiated warmth. His sandalwood cologne filled her in-drawn breath. A frisson of awareness shivered through her at the invading recollection of his kiss. A kiss that had filled her dreams.

  Dash it. After his coldness yesterday, she had sworn she would not let him affect her again. She must be suffering from spring madness. The only reason London’s wickedest rake had for taking her up in his carriage, was to display her like one of his fine china ornaments in order to auction her off to a husband. Then why on earth was feeling like a besotted schoolgirl because he had helped her into his carriage? No more.

  Brilliant blue eyes in taut face focused over her shoulder on the groom holding his horses. She tried to ignore the large hands filling the hollow between her ribs and hips. She grasped his arms for balance.

  Beneath her fingers, hard muscles tensed and his strength surrounded her. Her heart thudded in her ears.

  The carriage shifted backwards an inch or two.

  “Easy now,” Travis said to the groom. “Hold ’em steady.”

  They waited, a frozen tableau, while the groom brought the horses under control. Travis’s chest rose and fell inches from her cheek. She sensed his heart’s rhythmic beating.

  “Ready, Miss Yelverton?” His voice, soft and low, carried on a warm breath across her cheek. Sharp-pointed needles showered her skin, leaving her breathless. If only he would hurry up and place her in the blasted carriage.

  Lifted as if she weighed no more than a child, she hung above him, gazing into his handsome face. The purple bruise on his jaw had faded. His lips, still bearing signs of battle, softened and curved seductively. The word handsome did not do justice to his dark, satanic looks. He was the epitome of male beauty. Her heart beat faster. She forced herself to meet his sapphire gaze and risked a smile.

  Heat flared between them. He blinked and swept the fire away. “Up you go.” He deposited her on the high platform as if she weighed no more than a child.

  The carriage rocked unsteadily beneath her feet and she dropped thankfully onto the seat. The vehicle pitched as Travis climbed up beside her and she grabbed at the side.

  “Let ’em go,” he called out, gathering the reins. The groom stepped back and smartly leaped up behind them.

  With a twist of his strong wrist, Travis flicked his whip above the leaders’ heads. The horses jostled a little, then settled into a smooth walk. He deftly eased them into the heavy London traffic. “Chin up, Miss Yelverton. Today you will experience all the joys of the afternoon ride in Hyde Park.”

  “You do not sound as if it is something you enjoy.”

  His expression remained bland. “It is well enough, I suppose, for those who like to gossip, to see and be seen. For myself, I’d sooner drive these beauties at speed down the long stretch of road between here and Brighton than dawdle slowly along Rotten Row.”

  “Maria mentioned you might be going to your Hampshire estate next week.”

  A muscle flicked tensed in his jaw. He guided his team around a coal-heaver’s dray. A muffin man’s bell and the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones drowned out his reply.

  Victoria leaned closer. “I’m sorry, I did not hear what you said.”

  The carriage jolted. She lurched forward with a small cry. He lashed out an arm and pulled her close, safe against his side, his lean hip pressed hard against hers. A strange, knowing feeling stirred in her stomach. Heat traveled from her throat to her hairline.

  Pure wickedness gleamed in his quick sideways glance. “All right now?”

  He’d done it on purpose, the odious man. She nodded, pretending not to notice his powerful grip around her shoulders. He released her.

  “I said,” he continued, “Business there requires my personal attention. Maria knows how to reach me if necessary.”

  For example, if Victoria received another proposal of marriage. Still, the prospect of his absence presented an opportunity. Allowed her the freedom to find a governess position. “You are going to see Diablo’s colt?”

  “Partly for that,” he admitted. “You will be well entertained while I am gone. Deveril will be here to escort you about. My plan is to leave directly after our trip to Vauxhall next Tuesday.”

  “How long will you be away?”

  His expression became remote as if her prying annoyed him. “It will depend on my level of engagement with the planned endeavor.”

  The wry tone sent warning bells clamoring in Victoria’s mind. His oblique responses seemed out of character. There was only one reason for his evasive answers. He was planning his rendezvous with Miss Eckford.

  An unreasonable sense of disappointment churned in her stomach. How could that be so? She should be glad of his departure. She was glad. Very glad. Deliriously happy, in fact.

  “And here we are,” he said, turning into Hyde Park. “London in all her myriad guises.”

  All of Society indeed did seem to be walking or riding in the park. The fine afternoon had brought out half the population, it seemed. Flower sellers, ladies in elegant walking dresses, demi-reps, in silks and jewels, ogling those in passing carriages and strollers all mingled at the fashionable hour of five o’clock.

  Travis bowed to a lady and gentleman in a landaulet heading in the opposite direction. “Lord and Lady Ralston,” he murmured.

  Victoria wrinkled her nose at the noise and the smells. “It’s very crowded. I can see why you might prefer the open road. Goodness. Who on earth is that?”

  Travis looked in the direction she indicated. “The mincing, elderly popinjay, you mean? Sir Giles Willowby. And over there—” he nodded at portly fellow with two white poodles on leashes following in his wake “—is Lord George Montmarcy with Romulus and Remus. Naturally all of London envies them their style.”

  Travis’s quizzical expression made her smile. His cold demeanor hid
a dry sense of humor.

  “And over there?” she asked, indicating a handsome young buck attired in the height of fashion, strolling with a splendidly buxom female in a purple satin gown which concealed only a fraction of her generous curves.

  “The Duke of Hawkfield and his latest inamorata, the incomparable Carmelita di Consuello of the corps de ballet, otherwise known as Betty Dodds from Wapping.”

  Victoria stared, fascinated. The duke, as proud as a strutting peacock, displayed Betty Dodds like shimmering plumage. No doubt he would cast her aside when her feathers faded or some new bird of paradise caught his interest.

  “It is all rather shallow,” she mused and only realized she had spoken her thoughts out loud when he gave a short laugh in response.

  “Indeed, Miss Yelverton. But to some, its very shallowness is its charm. There is no need for a depth of understanding when the titillating whispers of hidden scandal can amuse one’s acquaintances for hours, if not days. No need for skill or art, when the tongue’s razor edge can shred a reputation in a sentence. No need for honor, when a man’s wealth is the measure of his true worth, no matter the means by which it was acquired.”

  Puzzled she stared at his stern profile. On first acquaintance, he appeared to embrace all the aspects of the ton she despised: gambling, brawling and licentiousness. His words and manner told a different story. Strict with her, honorable too, for the most part, and terribly cynical about the ton. If this was a true indication of his nature, why did he not break free of the mold and undertake some worthwhile project? Something other than herself, that was.

  More of a puzzle was the pull he exerted on her emotions. Never a moment passed in his presence when she wasn’t aware of his masculinity, his wide shoulders taking up more than his share of the carriage, his strongly muscled thigh pressing against hers on the narrow seat and the occasional waft of his sandalwood cologne. He flustered her and she did not like the odd sensations racing across her skin and along her veins.

  The offside leader took exception to a strolling lady’s fluttering yellow ribbons. Travis’s arms flexed as he regained control and she found herself transfixed by the display of strength hidden by perfect tailoring.