A Season to Be Sinful

by Jo Goodman

  “Whatever it is, Sherry, it is not for you to do. You cannot affect a solution for everything.” Lady Rivendale picked up the list, skimmed it once, then folded it neatly and began to tear it into quarters. “There. It is my contribution to your happiness.”

  “Thank you for that, Aunt.”

  She shrugged lightly. “A woman can dream.” She pushed the confetti she’d made to the center of the table. “Why have the banns not been read, Sherry?”

  “I have only just placed the announcement of our engagement in the London papers.”

  “I am not fooled by that. That is bait. Oh, do not look at me in such a manner as if I cannot possibly know what I’m saying. If neither of you desire a wedding with more than a few of your intimates present, then that announcement had but one purpose: to draw the baron out. Is it that she has agreed to marry you but will not do so until it is settled with him?”

  “I am all admiration,” Sherry said, meaning it more than not.

  “Do you think it is wise, Sherry, to tempt him in such a manner?”

  “It is necessary.”

  “What if he does not come?”

  “He will. Do not forget that my acquaintance with the baron is far and away more substantial than your own.”

  “Yes, but you have never fully explained how he is known so well to you. It continues to puzzle.”

  Sherry’s smile was purposely enigmatic. “And it shall remain so. But consider, Aunt Georgia, when Woodridge arrives it could very well be that his plan will not be to disrupt my engagement but to secure one of his own.”

  Lady Rivendale’s eyes widened as the bent of Sherry’s words became clearer to her. “With me, you mean?”

  “You cannot be so surprised. Did you not say that he had proposed twice, and you were in expectation of a third?”

  “Yes, but now that you are engaged to Lily, surely he would not dare to make an offer.”

  “Why not? Do you believe he thinks for a moment that she has been forthcoming with me?” Sherry shook his head. “No, Aunt, he will come to Granville Hall because he desires to deliver us all from Lily’s wickedness. That is the true nature of the man. He believes it is his purpose to save us from ourselves.”

  Wycliff Standish, Baron Woodridge, regarded the Gazette notice for the third time since returning to his carriage and ordering his driver to make way again. He held the announcement carefully, letting it dangle between two fingers so that he would not inadvertently tear it. He had been equally cautious removing it from the paper four days earlier, sharpening the blade of his knife before he applied it to the border of the notice. After reading then rereading it, he had folded it in precisely creased thirds and placed it under his silk-lined waistcoat just above his heart. It amused him to suppose that someone privy to this gesture might mistake it as a romantic one. It was not. Woodridge was confident that his heart had no romantic leanings, that what he experienced was something more extraordinary than what other men knew.

  What was in his heart was righteous passion. Sometimes his hands actually trembled with the strength of it. He had learned to draw on that strength, pulling it back into himself when that was what was demanded of him, then calling upon the reserve when the mission demanded it.

  In London, when he’d first seen the announcement, he’d known a moment’s uncertainty that he would be able to control himself, but by the time he’d tucked the piece into his waistcoat, he had already contained that passion. Looking at the notice now, his fingers shook slightly. He did not fool himself into believing the bouncing of the carriage lay at the root of that unsteadiness. He recognized the fever that was upon him and knew it would have to be assuaged.

  It was not so much a question of when—for he knew he would always be able to pick the moment—but of precisely how he would satisfy himself. To that end, he returned the notice to his waistcoat, leaned back against the plump leather cushions, and brought the harlot Lilith Rose Sterling to mind.

  She deserved rather more than had been done to her before. It was clear to him that he had not taken her in hand as completely as he’d thought. She should not have been able to leave him; she should not have wanted to. He had always been the one who set the terms of the arrangement he enjoyed with women. Even his own wife had acceded gracefully—and gratefully—in the end. He would have sent her anywhere she wished—the Continent, the Americas, even India—but she could not bring herself to leave him. Jane, his dear Jane, the mother of his children, had sworn she would rather die than leave him.

  What choice was left to him but to oblige her?

  Lilith, though, had been a provocation from the outset, making herself undesirable to him to turn aside his interest, then running from him when he discovered her perfidy. He’d followed her, though, and he’d won her confidence. He thought he would tire of her soon enough, as he had with those before her, yet she enticed him again and again. Debased, yet somehow never humiliated, soiled and used in every manner he could conceive, she had nevertheless seemed to remain untouched.

  A virgin.

  Woodridge grimaced wryly at the notion, yet understood it was not far off the mark. She served his needs too well, her purity compelling him to make use of her, and her pride fairly demanding that he make every attempt to diminish it.

  Had she been something less than what she was, there would have been a different end. She would have been long out of his life, and he would not be on the road to Granville Hall now to reclaim his sacrificial lamb.

  Lily snuggled more deeply against the comforting heat at her back. She was on her side facing the window, and the same cool breeze that shifted the curtains made her wrinkle her nose. She was not yet quite awake, but neither was she unaware of her surroundings. Behind her she could hear Sherry’s light, even breathing. It was his arm curving over her waist, his knee that had nudged hers apart.

  She didn’t recall him coming to her room. It was just as well. She would have sent him away. They’d agreed on the evening she accepted his proposal that he would no longer slip into her bedchamber. At least she’d thought he had agreed. Perhaps he’d only said that his door would be closed to her.

  Her nightshift was bunched around her hips and her bare bottom was cradled snugly against Sherry’s groin. His erection pressed hot and hard against her cleft. She heard his breathing catch, then quicken, then he was easing himself inside her. She pressed back, accommodating his entry, and the delicious feeling of warmth, of being filled, made her murmur contentedly.

  He moved slowly, without urgency. The languor of his rhythm seemed suited to the early morning hour and the sense there was more dream here than reality. Lily found his hand and drew it between her thighs. She guided his fingers to the swollen hood of flesh hidden in her moist sex and showed him what she wanted.

  “Allegro,” she whispered. Sherry’s sleepy chuckle caused wisps of hair to shift against her nape and tickle her. She shivered as much from the prickling of sensation there as she did from his far more intimate caress.

  “Ahh.” Lily’s hips jerked. Pleasure spiraled, scattered, then began to rise more strongly than before. Reaching behind her, she laid her hand on his hip and urged him again. She felt his mouth in her hair, just at the back of her ear. He nudged aside a curl with his lips. The damp edge of his tongue darted against her skin. He whispered something she could not quite make out, but the husky timbre of his voice communicated his purpose anyway.

  Lily hummed her pleasure. He drew aside the neckline of her shift and his teeth nipped her shoulder. It made her toes curl. Her entire body arched when he kissed her in just the same spot.

  “Do you like that?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he did it again and received the same response, inarticulate but communicating everything that was important.

  Lily was not certain that either of them was fully awake until the moment pleasure shuddered through them, and even then it was so exquisite as to not seem grounded in any reality.

  She did not know how much time had pa
ssed before she became aware of Sherry again. He was on his side, his head propped on an elbow as he looked down on her. She was lying on her back, the neckline of her shift restored to modesty, though beneath the sheet and thin blanket, she could tell there was a great deal that had not yet been put to right. Reaching under the covers, she lifted her hips and pushed at her shift, wriggling until the hem reached her knees. Satisfied, and undisturbed by Sherry’s rather wicked smile, she asked, “Did I fall asleep?”

  “We both did. Don’t worry. It is not so early yet. We can lie abed awhile longer.”

  “I thought we were agreed that we would not share a bed before our wedding.” When Sherry merely arched an eyebrow at her, Lily reconsidered. “Perhaps not.” Reaching up, she brushed aside a lock of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Will it be today, do you think?”

  “I hope so. If not today, then tomorrow.”

  “I do not think my nerves can tolerate a great many tomorrows, Sherry. What if we are wrong, and he doesn’t come? He might not see the notice. He might ignore it if he sees it. He might—”

  Sherry pressed his fingertip against Lily’s lips, silencing her. “You have never once doubted that he would come for you, else you wouldn’t have hidden away these last years. Don’t doubt your instincts now; they’ve served you well. If he misses the notice, he is certain to learn of the engagement from others. Recall that he has an interest in more than one matter here. I figure largely in the disposition of my godmother’s fortune, and he has come lately to believe that he should be the heir. Failing to convince her of an entailment that does not exist, he apparently believes she can be persuaded to marry him. So his interests are threefold: you, me, and Lady Rivendale. How can he stay away?”

  She nodded faintly. “You will not call him out?”

  “I have already promised I will not.”

  Lily searched his face. “You really believe you can persuade him to agree to an honorable silence?”

  “I do. It’s what he taught me, Lily. Persuasion. And he taught me well. I have not left anything to chance. I will know before he does when he is bound to arrive.”

  Word came to Sherry that afternoon, delivered by the advance guard of two of his trusted retainers. Sherry had entertained the notion of pressing Gibb and Conway into service but dismissed it. While they had experience that could certainly help him in dealing with Woodridge, they were also too well known to the baron. If Woodridge glimpsed them on the road or at an inn, he would be immediately suspicious. He might not associate their company as having anything to do with Sherry, but it could be enough to make him turn back to London.

  Instead, Sherry had selected the footman Tolley and the head groom Kennerly to travel to the inn at Westin-on-the-Narrows and remain there until Woodridge arrived or his carriage passed. It was not so far from Granville that they could not overtake him, and they would arouse no suspicion in doing so. They were, in fact, beneath the baron’s notice.

  When Sherry learned that Woodridge would be arriving within the hour, he cautioned Lily and his godmother that they must stay away. They could keep each other company for the time it would take him to conduct his business with Woodridge, but he would not have them presenting themselves and distracting him from his purpose.

  Lily was all for not setting her eyes on Woodridge again, but her ladyship wanted the opportunity to give him the cut direct.

  “Yes,” Sherry said dryly, “that would sting him.”

  Lady Rivendale harrumphed lightly, but she conceded that keeping Lily company while Woodridge was at the hall put her to a good purpose. “You will report every detail, Sherry. I will not be satisfied until I know every particular.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” He kissed her on the cheek and had something more substantial for Lily. “Do not worry,” he whispered in her ear. “It will be done.”

  The Right Honorable Lord Woodridge arrived at Granville shortly before the four o’clock hour and was announced to Sherry as tea was being served to him in the library.

  Sherry rose at his mentor’s entrance and motioned him into the room. “Woodridge. What a surprise this is. Come. Come. If you are not the last person I might expect to see today, then you figure very close to it.”

  “Oh? And who would be less likely to arrive at your doorstep?”

  “My sister Cybelline. She is expecting a child and does not travel now.”

  Woodridge nodded, smiling. “She fares well?”

  “Yes. Yes, she does. I had a letter from her only yesterday and am assured she is in the best of health. Please, will you join me for tea? Or mayhap you wish something stronger to remove the dust of travel from your mouth?”

  “Tea.” Woodridge began a walk along the perimeter of Sherry’s study while his host rang for more refreshment and cakes. “I have always admired this room, Sherry. Most impressive. Your collection of books must be among the finest anywhere. I am giving you a great compliment when I say it rivals my own.”

  “Indeed. Thank you.” Sherry turned away from the door. “I admit I am more than moderately curious as to the purpose of your visit. It was not much above a fortnight ago that Gibb and Conway paid their addresses. Is it to be a parade from London or do you represent the last best hope to turn me around?”

  He stroked his narrow chin, thoughtful, but made no attempt to answer Sherry’s question. His slight smile was rueful. “Gibb and Con. I hadn’t realized. There is much that I no longer know.”

  “A precaution, I suspect.” Sherry’s brief study of Woodridge noted the fact that he was thinner than the last time he’d seen him in London. Not only was his face drawn, but his eyes appeared to be more deeply set, the cheekbones a fraction more prominent. For the first time, he looked considerably older than his forty-two years. Sherry recalled that Gibb had said that it was likely a poisoning that sent Woodridge to his bed for a week. Was that what had ravaged the man, or was it something else? “It hardly seems prudent for them to discuss matters freely when everyone is at risk.”

  Woodridge speared Sherry with his incisive glance. “Yet they were not hesitant to discuss matters with you. Why is that? Have you decided to come back to the fold, Sherry?”

  The extra service arrived, diverting Sherry’s attention. He took the tray from Wolfe and instructed him that they should not be disturbed. The butler backed out of the room. Sherry carried the tray to the table where his own cup rested. He was on the point of lowering the tray when the pot of tea slid toward him. He bobbled the tray, overcompensating for the shift in weight and tipped it back. The china pot crashed to the floor, and tea poured onto the rug and spattered the ball-and-claw feet of the table and nearby chair. The pyramid of iced cakes toppled into the drink, the teacup took a wobbly turn on the floor then stopped, and the plate rolled like a child’s hoop toward the fireplace where it crashed against the marble apron and shattered. The tray turned over twice in the air, then clattered to the floor, smashing the soggy cakes and the teacup.

  Sherry regarded the mess he’d made of things. He glanced over his shoulder at Woodridge and offered an apologetic, ironic smile. “I have always counted it as a good thing that I was to the manor born. I would not acquit myself well in service. Come. We will repair to the gallery. Wolfe will make it all right in a very short time.” He opened the door and ushered Woodridge into the hall.

  Wolfe had not strayed far and had already summoned a maid to clean the mess. The butler opened the pocket doors to the gallery and stepped aside, then followed to light the candelabras. “Will you want a fire, m’lord?”

  “I think it is pleasant enough, Wolfe. You, Woodridge?”

  “It’s fine.” He spoke curtly, walking toward the portraits at the far end of the gallery.

  Sherry requested another tray then dismissed the butler. He closed the doors himself. “Are you certain you do not find it drafty? I hope you will forgive the observation, but I noticed earlier that you are perhaps not recovered yet from your illness.”

  “So they shared that
with you as well. I believe, Sherry, that you are better informed now than before you left us.” He gazed up at the portrait from a century ago of a woman dressed in emerald satin and holding a long-haired snow white cat in her lap. The cat’s eyes perfectly matched the woman’s gown, but even more startling, they were the same color as the woman’s eyes. “Your grandmother?”

  “Great-grandmother. My father’s grandmother.”

  “A handsome woman. She has called to me before when I’ve been in this room. I don’t know why I’ve never inquired as to her identity.”

  “Perhaps because so much in the way of business has always occupied us. Is it business this time, Woodridge, or something of a personal nature that brings you all the way here from London? I confess, neither sets well with me, but business would be more palatable, I think. I am not at all in favor of you pressing your suit with my godmother under my very nose.”

  Woodridge’s eyebrows lifted. “I think you forget yourself, Sherry.”

  “Do I?” Sherry did not miss the shift in the baron’s light blue eyes that made his glance glacial. Woodridge’s drawn features were even more suited to his obdurate countenance. He held himself aloof and still, the lines of his face already sharply cut as though by a sculptor’s chisel. A granite bust would have imbued him with more animation than Sherry could see now. “I am no longer part of what connected us these nearly nine years past. I don’t have any particular allegiance to you, and you are pressing my hospitality by arriving here uninvited. It seems to me that you are the one forgetting much.”

  “So that is the way the wind blows these days.” Woodridge considered this for a long moment before offering a carefully measured gesture of acquiescence in the single nod of his head. “How much did my interest in Lady Rivendale influence you to leave us, Sherry? It grieves me to think my actions swayed your thinking. Frankly, I had not realized that such might be the case.”

  “One had nothing to do with the other. Certainly my godmother is able to make her own decisions, and I would not think of advising her regarding you. She informed me only very recently that you had offered marriage. Twice. That did astonish. I have always thought you would not take another wife. I knew when you began making noises about a connection to my godmother that your finances could not be in order, but I had not realized they were in a state of such disrepair that you would find marriage agreeable.”