Return to the House of Sin

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘Truly?’ Amanda and Raelyn matched her delight.

  ‘Why not?’ Aunt Matilda grasped their hands. ‘Isn’t it about time? This city needs a female’s enlightened thinking if we’re to make any progress for the future.’

  Crispin accepted a brandy from Bootler and watched his man-of-all-things leave the room before he walked to the window of his study. It was a clear night, unseasonably mild and perfect for an affair of the ton. He’d dressed in his finest eveningwear, full knowing his involvement at the Underworld last night had rippled through the rumour mill with alacrity, his name attached to scandal and mentioned several times in The London Times. Would Amanda wish to associate with him? He’d treated her with such contrary affection and unpredictable consideration, it was a wonder she even spoke to him.

  And then there was her father, the earl. Amanda and he shared a close relationship and, regardless of what her heart possessed, Crispin was not foolish enough to think she would disobey her father to the extent of his condemnation. Nor that Huntingdon would ever consider him acceptable husband material.

  The stakes were high, his heart at risk. Never mind his fledging reputation. His appearance at the hell and the subsequent fire had set him back to the start. People wondered of his involvement and questioned his motives. In time truth would come out, although he wouldn’t count on Sinclair, Hewitt or Reese to speak on his behalf. They hardly associated with the same circle.

  A noise near the hall drew his attention and he turned as Ferris entered the room. Dressed in an elegant suit, his friend looked every bit the aristocrat.

  ‘Looking forward to this evening?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? I’ve found your role as host lacking in most every manner.’

  Crispin answered the insult with a smile.

  ‘Besides, any night which offers the privilege of dancing with Lady Sophie is one to anticipate with great pleasure.’ Ferris poured his own brandy, at home and comfortable.

  ‘I assume you jest in an attempt to best me, so I’ll dismiss it out of hand.’ He couldn’t suppress the edge to his words. Sophie was off limits and he didn’t care if he perpetuated a double standard.

  ‘What happened last night?’ Ferris came to stand beside him. ‘From what I’ve read in this morning’s paper, you were in danger and yet you didn’t ask for my help, amico mio. This is yet another insult to lay at your feet.’

  ‘I couldn’t risk involving anyone.’ Crispin nodded his head in the negative. ‘You’re my guest and you witnessed Stokes’s irrational recklessness. I couldn’t take the chance you’d be injured. I may not have played the role of host to your benefit, but causing you injury or worse would be a regret I couldn’t overcome.’

  ‘A rather selfless act of bravery.’ Ferris took another swallow from his glass. ‘I would have assisted.’

  ‘Selfless? Don’t glorify my choice. It was an act of selfishness in every way. It was time I cleaned up my own mess and took control of the consequences.’

  ‘I understand.’ Ferris set his glass aside. ‘So, tonight, we celebrate. Stokes is gone. Taken into custody by runners. The hell is destroyed. Your past buried. That leaves only one goal left to achieve.’

  ‘You’ve organized the evening proficiently. What would that final goal be?’ he asked, but without a doubt Ferris knew and would speak plainly.

  ‘Lady Beasley in your bed.’

  Crispin chuckled, his friend not one to mince words. ‘Something like that. Should we go? I gave Sophie my word I’d be punctual. Women make such ado about these affairs.’ He finished off the brandy in his glass, unwilling to delve into his deeper emotions, but the truth lived in him. Amanda owned him, body and soul, heart and mind, and with that acknowledgement came incredible relief.

  Once in the carriage, their conversation turned to lighter topics and Crispin relaxed into the evening. Mayhap Fortune would smile on him tonight. Mayhap he could begin a new chapter in his life, find a way to convince Huntingdon, dissuade the earl of his preconceived notions and somehow gain the honour of making Amanda his wife. A sense of determination and resolute rightness settled to fortify these thoughts. In this decision, he knew his heart and mind. Mayhap, everything this evening would proceed swimmingly.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The evening was a disaster. Amanda had hardly entered the hall when the whispering began. Without intention, her name was attached to every hushed innuendo and sideways glance, at least in her own mind. Perhaps her insecurities and fears eroded her confidence to the point she could no longer rationalize societal gatherings.

  And what a pity. She’d anticipated the Frankley soiree with such high hopes and avid objectives it seemed every polished curtsey and demure smile practised in her bedchamber cheval glass was a colossal waste of energy.

  Meanwhile her heart remained equally ambivalent. She loved Crispin. She knew that with surety. And he’d professed to loving her as well. Yet he hadn’t spoken to her, messaged or appeared in her path for two days past, and worse, he’d become involved in the most disreputable and reckless scandal of the season. No wonder Father would not so much as speak the man’s name.

  ‘Try to relax and take joy in the surroundings,’ Raelyn whispered into her ear as they looped arms and proceeded further into the main ballroom.

  So, she did. Lord and Lady Frankley had spared no expense, their goal of honouring Princess Charlotte a convenient excuse to host the event of the season. Lavish hothouse flowers decorated every available surface in colourful sprays of calla lilies, roses and gardenias. Large polished pillars, smooth and milky-white, created an alluring border around the perimeter and allowed for discrete pockets of conversation and other amorous pursuits. Garlands of decadent satin drapery intertwined with faceted crystals looped from banisters and window casements, while huge, candle-laden chandeliers burned hundreds of tapers to bask the floor below in an elegant golden warmth. In one corner, an orchestra played delicate music as the dancing had yet to begin. Amanda cast her eyes about with interest, though she was not so foolish as to believe she did not examine the crush. Any gentleman with tawny hair fell under her immediate inspection.

  ‘Father and Aunt Matilda have already abandoned us to conversation. Let’s go to the refreshment table and have champagne. I think the view of the ballroom is better over there and we haven’t obtained our dance cards yet.’ Raelyn appeared enthralled with the event, her smile bright. ‘Look. There’s a marzipan bust of Princess Charlotte. The likeness is unmatched. However was that achieved?’

  A tug on her elbow forced Amanda’s feet into motion, past the sweet royal confection, across the corner of the polished-marble parquet dance floor, and into the linear shadow of two looming pillars. Her gown was perfection. Not a stain or speck marred the shimmering silk. The design and fit were exquisite, her hair just as lovely, Enid having achieved an elegant arrangement with ivory combs. Granted her new heeled slippers pinched, but it was a small sacrifice to appear as sophisticated as any accomplished diamond of the first water. Aunt Matilda had made true on her promise of new earbobs and Amanda wore them to accompany her mother’s diamond necklace. Every element was in place for a successful evening.

  Every element, except one. The most important one, at that.

  ‘I’ll get us champagne. Wait here.’

  Raelyn left before Amanda responded, but it didn’t matter. She kept her focus on the crush and darted her eyes to the doorway often to see who might enter.

  Would Crispin attend? It was a leap of blind hope to expect a gentleman to tackle a crazed madman, save dozens of people from perishing in a fire and then wish to attend a stodgy social function far below his level of interest.

  A cluster of women sidled up behind her and she refused to acknowledge their presence. She knew why they’d come together. No female painstakingly dressed for hours and then slinked into the shadows of a ballroom if not to propagate chinwag. Wallflowers being the only exception. True to form, despite the joyful ch
atter bandied about the ballroom and the melodic tunes of the orchestra, by fault of proximity Amanda deciphered every word.

  ‘Lord Hastings has returned with as much speculation and commotion as his exile created last season.’

  ‘Poor Sophie. She deserves better than a brother who possesses no sense of honour. While he was once a respectable gentleman, he’s no less than a scoundrel now.’

  ‘True, he’s changed, though I understand he played more the role of hero than villain last evening.’

  ‘Either way, one matter hasn’t changed. The most important matter.’

  A trill of giggles followed.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Amanda bit into her lower lip in wait of the lady’s answer.

  ‘His heavenly good looks.’

  More giggling ensued.

  ‘If he were to look me in the eye, I wouldn’t be able to speak.’

  No loss there.

  ‘I wonder how it feels to kiss him?’

  ‘It seems Lord Hastings is the answer to several questions we wish to explore.’

  ‘Fetch the champagne, Margaret. And then let’s find him and observe. The ideal way to banish nasty rumours is to show the world they have no consequence. Let’s see what Lord Hastings chooses to do.’

  Quick to dismiss the ladies’ conversation, Amanda considered the last bit. In that there lived truth.

  ‘Here you go.’ Raelyn had returned with two glasses of champagne. She held a pair of pencils and dance cards suspended by ivory ribbons. ‘Now we have everything needed for a delightful evening.’

  Almost. Amanda thanked her sister. But not quite.

  ‘How is it that just last night you tackled a fire-setting madman, saved dozens of people and still look scandalously handsome this evening, with not a hair out of place?’

  Sophie’s question provoked Ferris to laughter while Crispin looked down at his black evening attire, the brass buttons agleam in the overhead candlelight.

  ‘The story becomes more embellished every time it’s retold. What version did you hear, Sophie?’

  ‘The one reported in the Times. Father and Mother read and reread it several times at breakfast this morning.’

  ‘Yes, I read it too.’ Ferris picked up Sophie’s dance card and in a flourish signed his name with a pencil he produced from nowhere. ‘Your brother impressed us all.’

  ‘From dishonourable wastrel to admirable hero in no time at all, Brother. You certainly know how to change London’s flow of gossip.’

  Sophie smiled in Ferris’s direction and Crispin watched the interaction closely.

  ‘What’s left of the Underworld?’

  She hadn’t stopped chattering about the incident since they’d arrived and now Crispin’s patience wore thin. ‘Not much.’ Associating with Stokes had proved a mistake and, while the man had served his purpose and reported to Crispin while he’d stayed from London, the relationship had taken a turn when Stokes demanded foul play. Pity Stokes had become a different man since Crispin knew him at university. But that was all in the past now. Crispin wanted to look towards the future and forget the Underworld altogether.

  ‘What makes matters worse, with the fire destroying the Underworld, is that I never saw inside the gaming hell.’ Sophie adopted a pout that Crispin knew would gain Ferris’s attention.

  ‘It wasn’t more than a dark collection of felt tables and smoke. If you visit my city of Venice, I’ll escort you into several disreputable establishments.’ Ferris smiled a wicked grin.

  ‘Am I supposed to acknowledge this conversation?’ Crispin interjected readily. ‘Sophie isn’t going anywhere. Not to Venice and definitely not to visit you.’ Sophie’s sharp glare caused him to smooth his remarks. ‘The count’s reputation as a wicked rakehell is more dangerous than the Underworld.’ This caused his sister’s eyes to flare.

  ‘Your brother exaggerates,’ Ferris defended.

  ‘He does, doesn’t he?’ She smiled in his direction. ‘All in all, he’s a good sort, who once believed himself brokenhearted when he hadn’t experienced love at all. Now he thinks he’s an expert on every subject of life.’

  ‘Again, I’m standing right here in earshot,’ Crispin interjected with sarcasm, though the mood was light.

  ‘When will you sail to Italy?’ Sophie perked up to the new subject.

  ‘As soon as I purchase my passage. London and I are finished.’ Ferris inclined his head and his voice dropped lower. ‘Our affair was short and unsatisfying. I need to return to Italy.’

  Crispin grinned. ‘Just like that? I’ve hardly had a chance to show you the better part of the city.’

  ‘That much is true, amico mio.’ Ferris shook his head. ‘But I miss my home and I’m ready to return.’

  ‘I have a favour to ask.’ Crispin laughed, aware he’d served as a terrible host and had no right to impose on the count.

  ‘Ask another.’ Ferris waved his hand towards the room full of dignified society.

  ‘No, I can’t do that.’ Crispin shook his head in the negative. ‘You’re the best man for the job.’

  They fell into a comfortable silence until Sophie insisted the count meet her friends. Crispin suspected the count’s title was a novelty his sister meant to exploit, but in truth, Ferris loved an audience just as much. He deposited Sophie within the group and she excitedly introduced Ferris whenever necessary.

  Alone, Crispin breathed a deep breath, aware several men observed him, whether with curiosity or admiration, he didn’t know. What he did know with unequivocal surety was the need to find Amanda. It beat within him like the purpose of his heart. He eyed the crowd, the crush increasing with every passing minute. He’d grab a glass of champagne and circulate. Amanda should be easy to locate. He held no doubt she would be the most beautiful woman in the ballroom.

  Approaching the refreshment area, he moved towards the back of the table in hope of bypassing the crowd who admired a monstrosity of sugar paste moulded to resemble someone he couldn’t identify. He’d almost reached the table when a trio of guests, two young ladies and an older, unfamiliar woman, jostled their way into line behind him. He’d otherwise not have offered their conversation credence, but their lively commentary snagged his attention and, with the pressing conditions, he couldn’t help but overhear.

  ‘I’ve circled the room twice and no one’s gown is comparable. You’re certain to garner every gentleman’s attention this evening.’

  ‘Have you seen Amanda Beasley’s dress? It’s far lovelier than mine, although I doubt she’ll wear it successfully through midnight.’

  ‘Is that the chit who always finds herself in the middle of a muddle?’

  ‘One could say she has a propensity for mishap.’

  ‘Not just one could say. We all say it.’

  A twitter of petty laughter kept the gossipy tongues busy another minute.

  ‘Tell me again what happened when she attending the Sorelsons’ gala.’

  ‘That was a night to remember. She waltzed a young man straight into the orchestra.’

  ‘It might have been his fault, Mother.’

  ‘I highly doubt that.’ A few seconds ticked by. ‘As I was told from Lady Duworth, who learned of the situation from Lady Nimmons, the Beasley chit missed a step in the dance and barrelled into her partner. When he attempted recovery and moved aside, he inadvertently backed into Lord Tulman, who had filled his glass but again, and we all know how Tulman enjoys his drink. Anyway, the chain reaction resulted in a mess of broken glass and slippery tiles, which sent the Beasley girl into the orchestra. Unfortunately, she was still attached to her escort.’

  A discontented harrumph followed.

  ‘Good heavens, the retelling has left me parched and this line is insufferable. Come along and we’ll signal a servant to fetch our refreshments for us.’

  Thankful they’d left, Crispin nabbed a glass of brandy from a nearby tray and saved himself from the long wait for cha
mpagne. It was only natural other women would react to Amanda with petty gossip. She was lovely beyond compare and a natural threat to their security. If she possessed a single flaw, it was a wonderful, spectacular flaw and just another reason for him to love her.

  He loved her.

  He liked thinking about how much he loved her.

  Making his way across the room, he was forced to stop and shake hands or greet people who acknowledged his return and sought to discuss last evening, but he spared no time on specifics. He was aware of the buzz of excitement in relation to the Underworld’s fire. The papers had painted him in the light of a hero, but he didn’t feel heroic in the least. For the first time ever, he was sure of himself. Confident. And damnably happy. He cut through the room with purposeful confidence hewn from security and self-possession.

  And then there was no more thinking. There was hardly breathing. Because he saw Amanda Beasley across the room near a pale column that did everything to announce the exotic flower beside it. He set his glass in a potted plant and stepped closer. No wonder the chit behind him had worried over her appearance. Tonight, Amanda looked incomparable.

  Her hair was swept up in an elegant style which bared her slim neck, the graceful arc in wait of his kisses. Her slim figure was accentuated in all the right places, lush curves and long legs. His brain demanded he get closer. The rest of his body concurred.

  He was halfway across the floor when she noticed him. Dancing hadn’t begun and, although other guests milled about, he stopped and held her gaze in hope she knew his heart.

  Raelyn may have been speaking, but Amanda no longer heard, the thrum of her heart too loud in her ears. She’d looked across the ballroom and, with that glance, everything else ceased to exist. Crispin’s eyes found her, burned her, scorching hot with a look of possession, both lust and love, as if he were a man who knew his purpose and would die before ever letting it go.