A Season to Be Sinful

by Jo Goodman

  “That you can be discreet will never be called to question again,” he said dryly. Setting down his fork, Sherry picked up his cup of coffee and allowed the heady aroma to finish the job of waking him. He looked over the rim of the cup and saw he had his godmother’s full attention.

  He began to speak.

  Lady Rivendale did not interrupt his discourse with many questions. Those she asked brought him back to a salient point he had neglected to mention and kept him fixed on the most important aspects of Lily’s story.

  At the end, her egg was stone cold and almost as hard. She’d eaten a few bites of toast, a slice of tomato, and nothing at all of her porridge. Throughout Sherry’s recitation her features had remained composed while her complexion had been gradually drained of color.

  “I believe I will have my coffee now,” she said as he began to refill his own cup. “And a touch of that whisky you keep in the sideboard, if you don’t mind.”

  Sherry did not raise an eyebrow. He went to the sideboard, removed the decanter, and served his godmother her coffee exactly the way she wanted it.

  “It is something more than I expected to hear.” There was a faint tremor to her hands as she raised the cup to her lips. “She knows you have told me the whole of it?”

  “I haven’t told you the whole of it, Aunt.” Sherry returned to his seat. “I doubt that she’s told me everything. But, yes, she agreed that I should tell you whatever I believed was of import. She is afraid of you.”

  “Afraid? Of me? That is a ridiculous notion.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s not. No one has ever recognized her connection to the Sterlings before. She understood better than I how reentering society, even one so small as mine is here at Granville, might bring about just this end.”

  “It was like seeing a ghost, Sherry. You cannot appreciate how closely she resembles her mother. There is little enough of her father there, except perhaps for the color of her eyes, but she is Lillian in every other way. Her father’s people were from Warwickshire. You know that is not such a great distance. While she has no one left on that side of the family, it is not outside all possibility that someone might eventually be struck as I was by her looks. Lillian was a great favorite there, and she and Howard were married in the church at Middlestoke.”

  “You are speaking of something that occurred more than a score of years ago.”

  “And it is indecent of you to point it out. I recall it well enough.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Lady Rivendale waved aside his wry apology. “Who is he, Sherry? I should very much like to know that.”

  “As I would.” He noted her surprise. “Did you think I knew? She won’t tell me. I have stored every piece of information that she thought inconsequential enough to permit me to have, but I have only a list of possibilities.”

  Her ladyship was thoughtful. “She is afraid you will do something impulsive.”

  “She is afraid I will do something. I believe she knows me well enough to understand I will not be reckless.”

  “You frighten me also, Sherry, when you speak that way.” There was nothing he could say to that. Her feelings were her own.

  “What are your intentions?” she asked.

  “You do not want to know.”

  The look she gave him was a shade pointed and a bit rueful. “I was not speaking of your intentions toward him. I can divine those well enough. I was inquiring about your intentions toward Miss Rose.”

  “I love her.”

  Lady Rivendale rolled her eyes. “Do you think I am in my dotage? On my first afternoon here I witnessed how besotted you were. However, it is good to know that you have arrived at last at a calmer place.”

  “It does not feel calmer.”

  Her smile was knowing. “No, perhaps not quite yet.” She sipped her coffee. “You have not really answered my question. You cannot present her to society, Sherry, and I cannot like it that you would keep her as your mistress.”

  “This is something I should discuss with Miss Rose first.”

  Sighing dramatically, Lady Rivendale agreed. “I hope you will do so quickly, Sherry. I cannot abide being kept in the dark.”

  Pinch nudged Dash with his elbow, then jerked his chin in Lily’s direction. He winked. Dash, in turn, did the same to Midge. That young worthy glanced up from his sums, regarded Lily for a moment, then turned to his friends and wiggled his eyebrows. This gesture signified he understood the import of what he was seeing.

  All three boys bent their heads and continued their work, satisfying themselves with only the occasional sly glance in the direction of their teacher.

  Lily was oblivious. She stood at the window, one shoulder resting against the corner niche it was set into, and stared out across the terraced gardens and expanse of lake. From the schoolroom, it was an angled view, but the perspective gave her an appreciation for the vastness of the park and the ribbon of road that first appeared miles in the distance.

  She saw these things, but they were not what held her attention. Rather, she saw herself as she had been last night, lying across the bed, abandoned in her pose for him, one leg raised and an arm flung wide, his hands under her bottom, fingertips pressing, lifting, and his mouth—his beautiful mouth—joined to her at her thighs. This was not something that had ever been done to her before. All aspects of a woman’s pleasure were new to her, but this, this manner of lovemaking had been outside her imagining.

  His humid breath had made her moist; his tongue had made her wet. He drew out such pleasure in her that she’d screamed, and afterward, when she’d buried her face in a pillow, too embarrassed to look at him, he’d teased her from her hiding place with his hands and fingers and lips and made her come again. This time he’d swallowed her cries, covering her mouth with his, accepting her pleasure as though it were a gift from her to him.

  He made her forget there had been anyone before him, that she had been naught but a vessel for the dirty pleasures of another. In a way she could barely comprehend, yet knew it to be true, he made her clean again.

  They had slept very little. Twice she’d dozed and found herself being wakened on the brink of pleasure’s release, once because he’d initiated their love play and once because she had.

  He had invited her to touch him. She knew a man’s body for what it could force on her, but Sherry asked that she learn it in a different way. Some things were already understood. He had a sensitive spot at the curve of his neck and shoulder that made him respond agreeably to the touch of her lips. His abdomen retracted when she let her fingertips glide across his skin from rib cage to groin. There was a peculiar rumbling sound that he made at the back of his throat each time her hand slid along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

  What she had discovered last evening was how his body could make her so powerfully aware of her own. She lay beside him, the soft underside of her elbow curved against his waist, and was struck by the neat fit of arc and plane. Turning on her side, she drew up her knee and rested it on his thigh. Her belly was pressed flat to his hip, and the contour was so perfectly aligned that she did not so much as move later as peel herself away.

  His hands formed a cup that held the full roundness of her breasts, and his thumbs were precisely positioned to sweep over the budding nipples. The sole of her foot could be arched the exact degree necessary to slide along the length of his calf as though joined to it. Where he was an angle, she was a curve. Where his body thrust, hers yielded.

  She delighted in differences of texture: the crispness of the dark arrow of hair below his navel, the softness of the mat on his chest. At the nape of his neck, short strands the color of bittersweet chocolate wound easily around her fingertips. The puckered scar on his hip was surrounded by skin as soft as a baby’s bottom.

  His belly was hard; his erection was harder. Her hand curved around him, ran the length of him. She cupped him and heard his deep, throaty response that was more growl than rumble. Even that seemed sweetly synchronou
s with the purr she harbored at the back of her own throat.

  She had explored him with her hands, her fingertips, and finally her mouth. Afraid of his rejection, remembering all too well how he had thrust her from him in disgust once before, she had been cautious in these first intimate explorations.

  In the end, it was yet another way he invited her to learn about him. She tested his patience, his tolerance for carnal frustration, his ability to stay inside his skin when she was bent on releasing him from it. She learned what he wanted, and more important, she learned what she was willing to give.

  Standing at the window, Lily felt a small shiver slip along her spine. Hugging herself, she glanced back at the boys. Their heads were bent, each one of them working diligently on the tasks she’d set for them. Mayhap too diligently. She suspected that she’d almost caught them out at some bit of mischief.

  “Do you need help?” she asked. When they shook their heads simultaneously and did not look up, her suspicions were confirmed. “You are fortunate indeed that I am of so fine a temperament this morning.” Turning back to the window, Lily did not chastise them when they giggled.

  They must know her attention was not on their lessons this morning. How could it be? she wondered. Sherry had promised he would seek her out sometime today, and he had left no doubt about his purpose for doing so. It was unfair of him to plant that seed in her mind. She could still feel his hands on her breasts, the weight of his body on hers. Between her thighs there was a fullness, a sense that he was yet joined to her there, and the line of her mouth was still swollen from the pressure of his kisses. It was not difficult, then, to imagine the manner in which he might come upon her later, just as it was impossible to turn it from her mind.

  Midge poked Dash and rolled his eyes toward the open doorway. Dash nodded and nudged Pinch under the table, making the same gesture with his eyes. Carefully swiveling his head to one side, Pinch saw that it was Sheridan on the threshold.

  Sherry actually gave a small start when the scoundrels winked at him. Impudent rascals, every one of them, and too clever by half. He placed his index finger against his lips and secured their cooperation to remain quiet, then began to close the distance to Lily’s side. In spite of the fact that his tread was near to soundless, she was turning around before he had covered half the room.

  “That is really too bad of you, m’lord,” she said, stopping him mid-stride with her sternest look. “It is yet another example of your impoverished sense of humor and sets a poor standard for the boys.”

  Sherry brought his back foot up to meet the forward one and stood as though at attention. “You misunderstand. My purpose was but to show these fine fellows how easily they might be caught out.” He glanced at the boys. “Did I not say she had eyes in the back of her head? I offer proof of it now.”

  Pinch chortled. “Sure, an’ we knew that!”

  Midge was gleeful. “She caught ye fairly, m’lord.”

  “And ’er just moonin’ about,” Dash said. “She’d ’ave stopped ye when ye put a finger to yer lips otherwise.”

  Lily flushed, but Sherry was intrigued by this last bit of intelligence. He regarded Dash thoughtfully. “Mooning about? Was she?”

  “Oh, yes, m’lord. All dreamy like.” He tilted his head to one side and stared vacantly toward the world map at the head of the schoolroom. Parting his lips, he offered a breathy little sigh. As his thin chest heaved, he wrapped his arms around himself.

  “My,” Sherry said, much impressed with this mimicry. “You belong on the stage, Master Dash.”

  “He belongs under the palm of my hand,” Lily said under her breath. Since she had never raised more than an eyebrow at them, no one was particularly concerned by her observation. Sherry, in fact, chuckled. The dark look she gave him was blithely ignored. “You should not encourage them.”

  Sherry merely grinned. “Lady Rivendale is making plans to go to the village this afternoon,” he told the boys. “And I am here to say she is desirous of the company of three young gentleman. Do you know any?”

  “I’m quite certain they do not,” Lily said wryly. “Really, my lord, how will they ever learn if her ladyship is forever indulging them with treats and trips?”

  “Time spent with Aunt Georgia is an education unto itself.”

  “I’m sure.” She regarded the boys a moment. They were sitting at attention, hands folded on the table, knees and feet perfectly aligned under it. Here was proof that unholy innocence was not simply an oxymoron. “Go on,” she said. “And, pray, conduct yourself in a manner that will bring no embarrassment to her ladyship.”

  The haste with which the scoundrels vacated the schoolroom bordered on unseemly.

  Sherry gave Lily a sidelong glance. “I was afraid you would not let them leave.”

  Lily put out an arm as he began to advance on her. “No, my lord. No. I am perfectly serious. No.”

  “What are you saying no to?”

  “The glint in your eye.” She took one step backward. Then another. “You are a villain to come here and disturb my lessons.”

  “Disturb? There you are in the wrong of it. I came to teach you a lesson.”

  Lily felt the window at her back. Her arm was still stiffly extended, but now her palm lay flat against Sherry’s chest. “You must not kiss me here.”

  “Kiss you? My dear Miss Rose, that is the very least of what I intend to do.”

  Eyes widening, feeling a shade desperate, Lily looked for some avenue of escape. She glanced to her right and left, then saw she might evade him by ducking low.

  Sherry pivoted to one side and showed her the path was clear to the door. “I am all for a merry chase.”

  The look Lily gave him was meant to pin him where he stood. She noticed he seemed oblivious to it. There was nothing for it but to make a full confession. “I was mooning, Sherry, and I cannot thank you for making me admit it. It is lowering enough that the scoundrels saw me and tattled.”

  Sherry took immediate advantage of Lily’s falling arm and moved in. He placed his hands on the window, bracing himself on either side of her shoulders. His lips twitched. “I should like to hear more. Please say there is more.”

  “Well, you figured largely in my imaginings.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “And I simply couldn’t think of anything else. There, I have said it. You cannot kiss me here because it will not end there, and I will never be able to teach in this room again for thinking about it.”

  He grunted softly, not terribly sympathetic. “Then perhaps you can appreciate how difficult it is for me to attend to correspondence at the desk in my library.”

  Lily’s knees sagged. The heels of her hands rested on the windowsill and kept her upright. “Do you see, Sherry? I am liquid. You really must not touch me, else I will become a puddle.”

  “Now there is an argument that convinces.” Although his tone was mocking, he was not proof against the appeal in her eyes. “Oh, very well. I cannot be gracious about it, however, and you shouldn’t expect it of me.”

  Finding a measure of strength had returned to her legs, Lily pushed herself up a fraction. “Are you pouting?”

  He considered it for a moment. “Yes, I believe I am.”

  Lily’s laughter was cut short by Sherry’s sudden shift in attention from her to some point beyond her shoulder. She turned around as he straightened and looked for what had caught his eye on the landscape.

  An eddy of dust rose up from the road where two riders were approaching from the south. Except for the obvious difference in the color of their mounts, they were indistinguishable from each other at their present distance from the house. They rode with their heads bent, the tails of their black frock coats flapping behind them. Neither possessed an enviable seat.

  “Do you know them?” Lily asked, looking back at Sherry.

  “Yes.” Sighing, he stepped away from the window. “I will not be long with them.”

  “Sherry?” Lily could see that ev
erything about his demeanor had changed. It was suddenly difficult to remember that he had been teasing her so effortlessly only moments earlier. “Will you be all right?”

  He nodded. “It is nothing. An annoyance, really.” Bending his head, he touched his brow to hers. “Tell me where I’ll be able to chance upon you later.”

  She could have pointed out that if she told him, it would hardly be true that he could chance upon her. He was asking her to participate in her own ravishment. Honesty compelled her to admit she was naught but looking forward to it. “The music salon. I should like it if you’d play for me.”

  “Certainly.” After kissing her chastely on the crown of her head, Sherry departed the schoolroom.

  At Sherry’s request, Mr. Wolfe showed the visitors to the gallery and brought them refreshment. Sherry did not join them immediately, but rather let them cool their heels in what was perhaps Granville Hall’s least comfortable room for doing so. There was space enough for pacing the floor, but as this could only be accomplished under the watchful eyes of every Grantham who had come to the title before Sherry, it was not particularly restful. The portraits of the former viscounts were famous for the way their eyes seemed to behold one who was beholding them. Most guests to Granville reported an uneasy admiration for the impressive collection, which included portraits by Joshua Reynolds, Gainsborough, Hogarth, and Daniel Mylens, who was once court painter to Charles I.

  When Sherry judged they had waited long enough, he pushed open the doors from the adjoining drawing room and greeted them.

  “Forgive me for keeping you.” This was said merely as a matter of form. Sherry did not mean it, and he expected them to know it. Moreover, he did not explain his absence. This also showed a lack of regard for his visitors that he wanted to underscore. “You have been made sufficiently comfortable, I hope.”

  “Sufficiently,” the taller of the pair said. He was standing at the room’s midpoint, just to the left of the fireplace mantel. Directly over his head was the portrait of the third Viscount Sheridan, a man of enormous appetite who required a considerably larger canvas to do justice to his girth. He glanced above him, then offered Sherry a sardonic smile. “I had to stand here to get away from him.”