A Little Bit Sinful

by Robyn DeHart

  “I do not.” Though, admittedly, that smile of his did make her wonder what he’d been doing the last several years. She shook her head. Now was not the time to reminisce. “I came to discuss a certain debt with you. Can I be assured of your discretion?”

  “Clarissa, you are affecting the discretion of my establishment by being here. This is no place for a woman of your breeding to be seen.” He glanced around them to ensure they were still alone. “What the devil are you doing here? You could have sent a post.”

  “I would like to pay the debts of Mr. George Wilbanks.”

  His warm caramel eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “You heard me.” She indicated the purse hanging from her wrist. “I brought the funds, now if you could please tell me precisely how much he owes, I will gladly pay the sum.”

  “Have you completely lost your senses?” Justin’s jaw clenched.

  How had she not noticed his handsomeness when she was a girl? He’d simply been her brother’s friend and one whom she hadn’t even deemed appropriate for Marcus to have.

  Justin Rodale was a bastard, by birth, if not behavior. He’d been wretchedly surly and nothing more than a troublemaker. Not at all the sort of friend the son of an earl should have. It hadn’t mattered to Clarissa that Justin had gone to all the same schools as Marcus. And he had teased her mercilessly and insisted on calling her that wretched name. Chrissy.

  “First of all, I do not have a running summary in my mind of how much each patron owes me,” he said. “I have far too many patrons for that. Secondly, I am not at liberty to discuss a man’s debts with a woman who is not either his mother or his wife, and even then I probably would still refuse to disclose information.” He paused a moment and eyed her. “Who is this man to you, Chrissy?”

  “A friend,” she said carefully. There was no need to tell Justin any more than he needed to know. “The fact of the matter is, is that George is far too proud a man to accept a loan from me so I thought to pay off his debts myself.”

  A crowd of men poured out from the establishment and onto the streets. They spoke loudly, cursing and laughing. Clarissa looked down to her boots until they had all passed. One stopped just shy of her and she held her breath, afraid someone had recognized her, but the man started walking again.

  “Do you know George?” she asked.

  Justin nodded, drawing attention to his hair that he kept far too long. The waves at the back brushed his collar. Scandalously long. Not at all like George’s hair, which he kept well trimmed and manicured. “I know who he is,” Justin said.

  “And will you allow me to pay off his debts?”

  “I will not.”

  She frowned, wrapped her arms over her chest. “And precisely why not?”

  “Because he doesn’t owe me any money.”

  …

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  They had been at the tea and card party for nearly an hour, and Clarissa was already poised to stick a hatpin in her eye. Granted the average age of the women in the room hovered somewhere near half of a century, still, normally, Clarissa found it rather easy, if not enjoyable speaking to people. Today, though, she was in no mood to be congenial.

  She had only recently passed through a personal scandal and fortunately came out on the other side with her reputation mostly unscathed, all thanks to her new sister-in-law, Vivian. It seemed much longer than a mere eight weeks since Clarissa’s long-lost brother had returned to London and then met and married Vivian amidst a slight scandal of their own. Now the newlyweds were honeymooning. So Clarissa, was once again, left to her own devices, a situation her aunt said always got Clarissa in trouble.

  “Clarissa, dear, it’s your turn,” Lady Vesper said gently.

  Clarissa looked up at the older woman who smiled warmly at her. They were playing whist and it was her turn. She glanced at her cards and selected one at random and tossed it down. It was unusual for her to be feeling so disjointed and rather unsocial. But her dear friend, Ella, had expressed concern when they’d first arrived. Concern for her family’s financial situation, a situation Clarissa felt certain she could help with. Despite the fact that Clarissa told Ella nearly everything, she had never disclosed to her friend when she’d begun posing as Mr. Ignatius F. Bembridge. Suffice it to say, Clarissa was thoroughly distracted.

  Normally she was able to put her focus directly on the people with whom she was conversing, but today her thoughts were elsewhere. So instead of listening to Lady Vesper recount all the hilarity she witnessed the night before between her dog and her husband, all Clarissa wanted to do was pull Ella aside and procure additional details of the situation. If she were to offer her help, well, Mr. Bembridge’s help, then she needed to know what she’d be up against.

  It wasn’t in her nature to be so unconventional, at least it shouldn’t be. Her late sister-in-law, Rebecca, would be so disappointed. Rebecca had been married to Clarissa’s eldest brother and had practically raised her. The woman had done her level best to teach Clarissa to be a perfect lady, something she still strived for. Still, she’d done what she’d done out of necessity and damned if she couldn’t do it again to assist her dearest of friends.

  “Clarissa, it’s your turn,” Ella said, nudging her with her elbow. “Again. Honestly, you haven’t paid a lick of attention to this game.”

  Clarissa looked up and smiled. “My apologies. I’m afraid I’m a little scattered today.”

  “I’ll say,” Ella said. She dropped her own card onto the table. “What has your mind so consumed?”

  “She’s probably mooning over that fellow she fancies so much,” Lady Vesper said.

  Lady Vesper’s cousin, Agatha smiled. “Oh are you betrothed to a handsome gentleman.”

  Ella shot Clarissa a look.

  “Nothing so official,” Clarissa said.

  “Oh, my apologies,” Agatha said.

  “It’s no bother, truly.” The last thing Clarissa wanted was for any of these women to pity her. She’d had more than her fair share of such glances to last her a lifetime. She’d always been the girl whose mother had died in childbirth.

  Clarissa smiled reassuringly. “I’m merely a feather-brain today, I’m afraid.”

  Lady Vesper went back to talking about her dog.

  Ella frowned at her. “What are you thinking about?”

  “You, goose. I am concerned about what you told me. I do wish we could discuss it more. I believe I could help,” Clarissa said.

  Ella smiled. “Precisely what I was hoping you’d say. I know you’ve spoken so highly of Mr. Bembridge. I was hoping you could set up a meeting between him and my father.”

  Clarissa looked down at her cards and tossed one onto the table. “Yes, I’ll see what I can do. He is rather shy, though. Painfully so, I’m told.”

  “Haven’t you met him?” Ella asked.

  “Not precisely.”

  Ella frowned. “Then how did you go about finding him?”

  “I saw an advertisement. Can’t recall where though,” she said. She hated lying to her friend, but the truth would be devastating to Clarissa’s reputation.

  “I’m not certain my father would hire a solicitor he hadn’t even met,” Ella said.

  If Marcus were here and not on his honeymoon, then perhaps he could vouch for Mr. Bembridge enough to convince Ella’s father. What was it about men that they felt they could only trust information if it came from another man? But what other man was there for her to trust with this secret?

  Chapter Two

  Justin stood at the large window overlooking the gaming hell floor. Rodale’s was full tonight. The card tables were full, as were the dice tables. Over in the far left corner a group of men huddled, cheering and passing the wager book around. At that moment Clipps, Rodale’s assistant manager, stepped into the office.

  “What has them so riled up tonight?” Justin asked.

  “It would seem that Wilbanks fellow’s father has made a decree that he must marry before the viscount dies.
So they’re making wagers on which chit he’ll choose.”

  George Wilbanks. The same man Clarissa Kincaid had offered to pay off the debts only two months before, debts that hadn’t even existed. Justin needed to get a look at that wager book, see if Chrissy’s name was on the list. He’d wait until the excitement died down and then go take a peek.

  A half an hour later Justin made his way downstairs to check out the wager book. It was filled with all manners of wagers, from what sex Lord Fairfield’s new child would be to whether or not Fiona Miller would ever agree to one of the many proposals she’d received. And then Justin came to the page regarding George Wilbanks’s situation. There was a list of girls, seven of them, and by each name there were stakes and odds, numbers, and projections.

  Clarissa’s name was, in fact, on there and she and one other girl were leading in the group. The two most expected to garner marriage proposals from Wilbanks. Justin knew that the entitled made wagers on everything, and among their favorite involved who would marry whom. But he’d never really paid much attention to it. Seemed a silly pastime to him.

  Then again, Clarissa Kincaid had never made it on anyone’s list. Justin might not be able to do anything about the wagering, but he could see what he could do to ensure Clarissa didn’t find herself married to the lying ass.

  …

  The following night Clarissa attended the new exhibit at the Royal Academy of Music Museum. Aunt Maureen had already found a bench to sit upon with a friend of hers so they could “chat instead of milling about in the crowds,” as she’d put it. But Clarissa was eager to see the exhibit, especially the original manuscripts from Beethoven.

  Despite the fact that she knew George would not be in attendance,—he had never been much for museums—she had donned her new pink gown. She couldn’t help but wonder where he would go this evening and with whom. Sabrina Richmond had said she’d heard that George had gone riding with Maryann Fields. On more than one occasion. Clarissa knew he danced with other women, but he’d always told her it was to keep up appearances until the time came for him to become engaged. But Maryann Fields was very pretty, and the whole notion of George spending time with her made her uneasy.

  As she began walking through the exhibit, she saw several people she knew, but they seemed more interested in gossip than the items up for viewing. She smiled and waved and spoke when necessary, but she kept moving forward. The first thing she came to was the violin collection. The glass case displayed violins across the years, the intricate wood carvings so ornate on some and others plain. She’d never tried to play any other instruments, preferring the piano above all else. But were she to try another, the violin would be the one.

  “Good evening, Chrissy,” Justin Rodale’s voice came from behind her.

  She looked into the reflection of the glass and saw his tall form behind her. She turned around to face him and had to swallow hard. He looked so very dashing wearing all black except for the bright white of his cravat at his throat. His unfashionably long hair had been pulled to the back and tied in a ribbon at his neck. It had been a couple of months since she’d seen him and he looked devastatingly handsome.

  “You look like a pirate,” she said dumbly. Splendid. If Ella were here, she’d eat her hat.

  He grinned, one eyebrow sliding up. “Is that a compliment?”

  “I’m not certain,” she said honestly. “Your hair is unfashionably long.”

  “I like it that way.”

  She nearly agreed with him, but stopped herself. What was the matter with her? She didn’t approve of his hair. Proper ladies did not find men with long hair appealing. What was he doing here?

  “Allow me to escort you through the exhibit,” he said offering her his arm.

  She eyed him for a moment, then her curiosity got the better of her and she accepted the invitation.

  “You look beautiful in that color,” he said.

  “Thank you. I bought this dress recently on a shopping trip with Ella. She insisted I purchase the fabric, said a gown in this color would highlight my complexion.” She just repeated what he’d said. She wasn’t normally such a goose. In an effort to reclaim her intelligence, she focused on the exhibit. They were walking into the piano room, her favorite place in all of London and she told him as much.

  “Do you play?”

  “Yes,” she said, tempering her response. Rebecca had told her years ago to watch herself carefully when she spoke of music as she had a tendency to become overly excited about the subject. “I am quite fond of playing.”

  He eyed her for a moment before asking. “Have you seen Mr. Wilbanks lately?”

  “I saw him last night, but he does not care for museums so he is not attending.” She hoped that once they were married he would change his opinion of them, attend a few with her as she favored them quite a bit. She stopped walking and looked at him. “Justin, what are you doing here tonight?”

  “My mother always loved music. She brought me here when I was a boy.” He walked forward. “Also, I suspected you might be here.”

  She wanted to ask about his mother, but his admission intrigued her. “Why did you think I would be here?” They stood in front of a small Viennese piano. The keys were worn and chipped, but she longed to put her fingers upon them to hear the sweet notes.

  “First you must answer a question for me.” He waited until she nodded in concession. “Why is it that you are so intent on marrying George? Has he made declarations that he intends to propose?”

  “Not in so many words, but he has insinuated as much.” It had been two months since she’d seen or spoken to Justin, why would he seek her out with these questions about George? Perhaps he had discovered that George did, in fact, owe Rodale’s money. “And we are a good match,” she added with a nod.

  “Someone told you that?”

  She nodded again to answer his question, but kept her focus on the piano, the polished wood, the strings.

  “Who?”

  “People,” she said dismissively.

  “Your dear friend, what is her name again?”

  “Ella and no.” She shook her head. “Ella is not very fond of George.” She nearly chuckled. That was putting it mildly. Ella did not like George at all. “He has been good friends with her brother for years. Much in the way you were with Marcus. She grew up around George so she finds him annoying, I suppose.”

  “Do you find me annoying?” he asked with raised brows.

  She smiled. “Not at the moment.”

  “If not Ella, who was it that told you that George would be a good fit for you?”

  “Why are you so curious?” She eyed him for a moment. “It seems you came here to tell me something yet all you’ve done is ask me questions. Why the sudden interest in my relationship with George?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems to me that someone important must have told you that once upon a time. I don’t think he’s a particularly good match for you so I’m curious as to why you do. Especially since it seems he hasn’t progressed your relationships beyond weekly walks in the park and an occasional dance at a ball.”

  She stopped walking and looked at him. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve asked some questions. After he lied to you about owing me money, I made some inquires. I don’t care for people associating me in their lies. I’ve been watching Mr. Wilbanks and his behavior at Rodale’s. He still doesn’t owe me any money, Chrissy. The man is a liar.”

  She supposed she couldn’t blame him for looking into matters. In truth, George’s lie bothered her as well, but she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Certainly George had his reasons for telling her such things. Nevertheless, she didn’t appreciate being on the other end of his lie either. “If I answer this question, will you tell me why you came looking for me tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was Rebecca.”

  “Charles’s wife?”

  “I wouldn’t think you would remember her,” she said with a s
mile. “Yes, she was like a mother to me, and shortly before she fell ill, we were at a party. It was my first Season and she was trying to teach me all about how to find the right sort of husband. She pointed out George, said he was handsome, polite, and he stood to inherit a title.”

  “Did she point any other men out that night?”

  She considered for a moment, trying to bring that night to the front of her memory. Rebecca had always been so wise. Clarissa trusted her judgment above all others. “Well, yes, but I suspect she knew something about George. Could see it in his eyes perhaps. That’s what she used to say about Charles. That’s how she knew she would marry him. She could see it in his eyes.”

  Justin was quiet a few moments as they looked at the pair of harpsichords in front of them.

  “Are you going to answer my question now?” she asked.

  “I went to your townhome and your butler said this is where I could find you. So I came here.”

  “But why?”

  “To see you. Is that not enough?”

  She wanted to tell him that no, in fact, that was not enough, but she was too flustered to inquire further. She fell quiet again as they walked the room. They continued on until they reached the Beethoven manuscript. She stopped and stared at the parchment. The hand scrawled notes, the words beneath. The music played in her head, her hands tapped against her skirts, hitting each key perfectly. She sighed. What must it be like to have music inside of you in such a way?

  They had reached the last exhibit hall. Several people poured in behind them, one of whom was a notorious gossip, the very lady who had told everyone about Clarissa’s late night visit to Justin’s gaming hell.

  “Oh no,” Clarissa said. Even though the “scandal” had been smoothed over, Clarissa was in no mood to speak to the old bitty.

  “What?”

  “Lady Jessup.” She looked around them and saw that the end of the manuscript room was a short and darkened corridor that led to a door. She grabbed Justin’s hand and pulled him quickly into the darkness. She pressed herself against the wall and pulled him to her, effectively hiding her body.