A Sense of Sin (6 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Essex

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: A Sense of Sin
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“Dear lady, you must promise not to hold that against me!”
“Ha ha! Yes, I have known him these many, many years, but I will tell you the comparison flatters you, my boy and not him. He used to attempt that sleepy-eyed look you’ve perfected. By all means use it, but use it wisely, upon the widows. Steer well clear of the young virgins or I shall find the country outside my ballroom doors all in an uproar. Can you behave yourself?”
“By all means, your ladyship. By all means.”
Lady Harriet was generous, but not so generous as to introduce him where it might have done the most good, to her beautiful niece. Instead, she introduced him to some gentlemen of her generation, who were fond of their drink, their cards, and their horses in that order, and could laugh off the mention of his scandalous reputation.
Del stayed with the older gentlemen in the card room, where he was good-natured enough to lose some money, but he positioned himself as near the door as possible so he might observe Miss Burke.
He had badly misjudged their last encounter by putting a warning shot across her bow, but he had since fortified himself against her. He meant to win this war and defeat this enemy, so he must re-engage.
From the distance of the card room, she again seemed serene and remote. It was remarkable how little of her true self her appearance revealed, how effectively her intensity was cloaked in politeness. She had another young lady, a petite, vivacious blonde, at her elbow and seemed to be taking her around for introductions. But once she had made the introductions, she invariably stepped away quietly, hanging back from the group, not putting herself forward into the conversation. Yet, on closer observation, he could see she was not aloof exactly. She was engaged in what the others were saying, her eyes quick and wide, but solemn in her face. She simply kept her own counsel.
She was not the ice princess he had imagined, but now that he knew something of her, he was armed. He would be wise to her tricks. He would not be charmed by her aura of innocence, nor drawn in by her intoxicating scent.
He
was the one seducing
her
.
Miss Burke reappeared at the head of the ballroom and he knew the time had come. He rose and went towards her. When the blond young lady took note of him, her blue eyes widening in surprise, and spoke into Miss Burke’s ear, he stepped forward to intercept her.
He had prepared himself for all possibilities—for her to cut him, or attempt to avoid him, or give him some warning he was not to approach her in public. He had been prepared to pursue her to gain that moment of public acknowledgment.
He was astonished to find her immediately coming towards him.
She turned as if seeking him out, as if
she
had been looking for
him
. Despite the horrified gasp from her companion, Miss Burke let the other girl’s restraining hand drop away and stepped towards him, directly into his path.
As if she wanted to meet. As if she wanted it to be unavoidable.
“Viscount Darling.” She did not curtsy. Perhaps he had earned the insult.
He bowed deeply, his manners as fine as champagne. “Might I have a word, Miss Burke?”
“That depends, I suppose,” she replied carefully. She did not smile, but spoke with the same quiet gravity as in their last encounter.
He hoped it wouldn’t prove to be characteristic, this thoughtful, luminous presence she had. He wanted—
needed
—her to be the careless, heedless vixen of his mania. He could not
like
her, for God’s sake.
She looked at him with steady seriousness for a moment. “It depends on what you plan to do with it once it’s in your possession.”
He searched her solemn, freckle-dusted face, looking for signs of flirting, the simpering knowledge of the coquette. With any other woman such an exchange of words would have been a declaration of, and an invitation to, flirtation. But her dark eyes held the same quiet gravity as her voice. He could not quite take her measure.
“What would you like me to do with it?”
She offered him a quick, humorless smile. “I should like you to be very careful with it.”
And to be very careful with her. That was what she meant. She understood exactly how rough he had been at their first meeting and she was acknowledging the power he had over her. How foolish to show him just how easily she could be wounded. The first had been but an opening salvo to test her range. She was making herself a very easy target.
“I give you my word, Miss Burke. I will be very, very careful with you indeed. In fact, I intend to give you an apology.”
“Do you?” Her dark brows arched higher in surprise.
“Yes. I apologize for my less than polite behavior last evening. I can only say in my defense, you took me off guard.” It was a dangerous thing to say to an enemy. It gave her information and power to use against him. But it was also useful as a test. Would she take advantage of it?
She did not. A momentary flicker of her eyebrow told him she was far too intelligent to buy his charm wholesale. “I must apologize as well. I should have sought out an introduction rather than take you unaware. I am not usually so dreadfully impulsive.”
“No?”
“No.” She made a firm little sideways shake of the head, before she looked him in the eye. “But I begin to see the advantage.”
He pulled his body back from its natural inclination to lean towards her. “Indeed? Well, I am glad you did act impulsively. It was very good of you to speak to me of my sister.”
Her brittle confidence seemed to ebb. “My lord, you must not praise me for common decency. I was longing to speak to you.” Then she added with a little hesitation, “O-of her. Of Emily.”
Interesting, the little stammer. Very effective.
“Thank you. I think perhaps decency is becoming less and less common, which must account for my astonishment when you spoke to me so kindly. I have been too little among people of . . . open sensibilities.”
“Indeed?” Her brows rose again as she regarded him minutely, looking, he reckoned, for some sign of sarcasm. “I am very happy for a chance to speak about Emily. Your sister was very dear to me. As dear as a sister. I mourn her loss.”
It was more difficult than he had anticipated, to have Emily spoken of by this woman. He needed to remind himself that while Miss Burke was not the ice princess he had made her out to be upon first sight, she had nevertheless betrayed Emily and her friendship and devotion. Del had read Emily’s last letter again just that morning, so it would be fresh in his mind. He hardened his resolve anew.
“I thank you. Perhaps you would care to walk with me for a moment?”
She looked for a moment for her friend, who had disappeared. But she did not demure. “Yes.”
“I am glad. I should like a chance to set things right. May I start again? Miss Burke”—he bowed correctly—“it is an honor to make your acquaintance. Rupert Delacorte, Viscount Darling, at your service. Am I making you uneasy, speaking so openly like this? But I should like to . . . further our acquaintance, if I may be so bold.”
Miss Burke looked towards the dance floor.
God’s balls.
He could not stomach dancing with her. It was one thing to tarnish her reputation and ruin her by association, but he did not want what would amount to a public, legitimate announcement of interest in her, should he take her onto the dance floor. And he did not want to touch her. It was a strange, almost physical aversion. His gut clenched up tight as a grenade at the thought. No dancing.
“I am sorry, but I do not dance. My apologies. Perhaps we can walk, or you might meet me somewhere where we might exchange . . . a few words without the fear of being overheard. Or noticed. I fear being seen with me will do your reputation no good. But I should very much like the chance to talk to you about Emily.” It was a useful little conceit, his concern for her reputation.
“Yes.” She took the bait straightaway. She must feel very guilty indeed. “We must talk. But . . .”
She hesitated again. Indeed, she seemed full of hesitation, constantly appearing on the verge of stammering shyness. Emily’s letters had never mentioned anything of the kind. They had been full of Miss Burke’s eloquence and perfect way of addressing herself. The letters had sung her praises until—far from home and missing its half-forgotten comforts after years of rough living aboard ship—Del had imagined that he was in love with Celia Burke. He had been in love with what she represented: the open hearts of young English women who would not have to be paid in coin for their affection. She had been his ideal, his waking dream. Perhaps that was why he had felt her betrayal just as keenly as Emily. What a perfect little actress she was.
“My cousin’s garden is very fine, with an arbor walk. It will be a more private place to talk, if that would suit. But we cannot be seen leaving together. If you would not mind going first, I shall follow in a few minutes. Should you like that?”
How sweet she seemed with all her deference.
He bowed deeply to take his leave. “I should like that very much indeed.”
C
HAPTER
6
D
el got himself a drink and went outside, into the farthest reaches of the garden’s darkness so he would not have to make polite conversation with anyone else. So he could keep talking himself into this folly that had seemed so logical, so necessary when he had set out from London. Within the confines of his mind, Celia Burke had seemed a perfect demon of a woman, an easy and necessary target for his wrath.
But as he waited and watched from the dark arbor, he was not so sure. He had made a career out of his ability to read men, to understand who they were and why they did the things they did. But his instincts were in constant and complete disagreement about Miss Burke. He simply could not take her measure.
Emily had been sure in her letters, and so heartbreakingly devastated over Celia Burke’s betrayal, she had taken her own life. He could not allow himself to rest until he got to the bottom of what had happened between them.
He found the arbor walk running along the perimeter of the walled garden, and chose a spot closest to the house to wait for Miss Burke. She came out by a small door in the south wing, prudently trying to avoid notice. But she was not furtive. She walked collectedly, as if she had no hesitation in coming out to him. Foolish girl. He would have all the advantage.
She stopped just at the edge of the arbor where the spill from the house made a division of the darkness and light. It seemed fitting—or emblematic—that she be in the light, seemingly uncorrupted by the stain of sin, while he stayed in the darkness of the arbor.
Her simple chemise gown of pale, shining silk with a deep lace flounce around the neckline gave her an air of simple, unforced elegance and grace. Her hair was a contrasting, unadorned riot of loose curls tumbling about her face, creating a dark, glossy frame for the light porcelain of her skin and the dusty rose of her lips. The contrast between the untamed riot of the curls and the collected, restrained serenity of her face was almost shocking. It invited him to rake his hand through her hair and fist up those sinuous curls until he could pull her head back and kiss astonishment into those dark, watchful eyes and put a rush of color into those pale cheeks.
“Viscount Darling?”
He reminded himself he had the advantage. His eyes had already adjusted to the change from the blazing candlelight of the house to the perpetual half-dark twilight of English summer in the garden.
“I was not sure you would come.” He did not approach her, but let his voice carry and beckon to her, and lead her deeper into the arbor.
“Of course I came. I said I would.”
“You are true to your word then, although I am sure you would rather be back at the ball, dancing.”
“No, not at all.” She pulled off her gloves to pluck a leaf from the climbing vine and ease herself slowly into the deeper darkness.
He noticed at a glance, her fingers were bitten down to the quick. Despite her serene appearance, Miss Burke was a worrier. Again, not what she appeared. And not what he expected.
“I’d rather be away from the ball,” she continued. “I don’t care for dancing, either.”
That had to be a piece of flummery. What young lady didn’t care for balls? Only the wallflowers, and The Ravishing Celia Burke was no wallflower. “What beautiful young woman does not care for dancing? You dance beautifully.”
She did not make note of the fact he had been watching her. “I do like the dancing itself, sometimes, but I’m not very good with people. They’re so invariably complicated and unpredictable. And I always say or do the wrong thing. Like when I met you. I should not have introduced myself to you. You did not care to have my acquaintance forced upon you.”
How open and artless; grateful and generous at once. He responded in kind. “It was wrong of me to be so ungentle. I apologize.” He clasped his hand over his heart and gave her his most winning smile.
Yet she remained immune to his charm, all solemn seriousness. “Thank you. I accept.”
She ought to have been coy. Such a conversation with any of his female acquaintance in London would have been the opening salvo in a battle of flirtation. For God’s sake, they were engaged in a secret meeting in a beautifully romantic, darkened garden on a balmy summer night. It was practically de rigeur to flirt. But try as he might, Darling could find no trace of the coquette in her voice, which was soft and lower than most females’, but still entirely feminine. Her voice seemed . . . innocent.
No. That simply could not be. He would not allow it. He must think of Emily and all the things she would never do, and harden himself to this girl.
“How do you find Dartmouth, Viscount Darling? It must be very quiet and boring after your travels of the world.”
Did she sound wistful? “Have you never traveled?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Never? Have you never been away from Dartmouth? Been to London?”
“Only to Bath, to Miss Hadley’s. I know I am hopelessly provincial after all your travels.” Her tone was almost scornful.
“Not at all. I think you simply lack experience of the world. Of seeing a greater variety of people.” He wasn’t sure how he had come to be defending, or reassuring her.
“Oh, that is
certainly
true.” She spoke with feeling as she leaned back against a column supporting the arbor. “But I fear a greater acquaintance with the world would only lead me to greater confusion and lesser understanding. I find people are simply hard to understand. A man like you is
impossible
to understand.”
“You are too severe upon yourself. Yet, I find myself thankful for your lack of experience, else you would never talk to me. You would know a girl like you ought not to be talking to a man like me.” He darkened his own voice with a bit of rueful wistfulness.
She turned to face him fully, and his eyes were drawn to her lips, red and chapped from being bitten. And to her eyes. It must be merely a trick of the light, but her eyes carried deeper shadows. When she looked at him thus, with those wide, solemn eyes, she appeared almost haunted.
As well she ought to be.
“Forgive me, Viscount Darling, but I should like to know to what purpose is this conversation?”
Her forthright question surprised him. “To what purpose? To improve our acquaintance. I had hoped we might even become friends. For Emily’s sake.”
“For Emily’s sake,” she echoed. “Viscount Darling, I hope I give no offense, but I was under the very strong impression that you do not like me. That you rather actively wish me ill.”
He smiled to cover his surprise. Brilliant of her, of course, to make such a direct attack, when he had been guarding his metaphorical flanks. But he could lie as effectively as she.
“I do not wish you ill, Miss Burke. I wish most sincerely to become friends.”
“Friends? Do you always make bets to seduce, ruin, and abandon your friends?”
Bolt after bolt, each surprising shot overthrew all his assumptions and all his plans. There was nothing, simply nothing he could say that would not condemn him. He braced himself for the onslaught of her condemnation, for the slap he knew he deserved, yet she remained calm and collected.
“That, Viscount Darling, is something I cannot understand. Would you care to explain it?” Her clear, quiet tone demanded an answer.
Oh, she was clever, a very worthy opponent.
“I see Commander McAlden has spoken with you first.”
“You must not blame the Commander. I fancy he has done us both a favor, Viscount Darling. Although the Commander declined to take your bet, I intend to accept your challenge.”
She could not have hit him any harder if she had slapped him. “You astonish me, Miss Burke.”
“Thank you. I am glad. It evens us up a bit.” She nodded, all steady purposefulness. “As we have both noted, I am shy of the world and lack experience. You, on the other hand, claim a surfeit. It seems the answer to both our difficulties lies in you giving me the benefit of your seduction. Then we will be even. Provided you are capable.”
Oh, stupid girl to try to goad his pride. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“I have no idea, really, but I hope you can. Seduce me without ever once touching me, that is. For I should not like to find myself bound to you in marriage. Can it be done?”
“It can,” he answered carefully. “I have no desire to be trapped into a marriage either.”
“Good, then we understand each other. You
may
seduce me”—she held up her hand in warning—“but you may not touch me.”
“I may seduce you? It is not so straightforward, Miss Burke, this business of seduction. It is a dangerous business you undertake.”
“Dangerous? How?”
“Because it must be based upon trust. You must trust that I will behave against my proven character. You must trust that my reputation is unearned. That I will not forget I was born a gentleman and I won’t remember I’ve spent the better part of the past ten years working hard not to act like one. A very dangerous chance, Miss Burke. A very daring chance.”
“No.” She shook her head, still so solemn and determined. “I may be shy of the world, Viscount Darling, but I am not timid of purpose. I do not need to be afraid of you. I knew you, and I made up my mind to like you, indeed I did like you, long before I ever met you.”
“Had you?” He could not stop his ridiculous smile. Despite his efforts to control himself, her words warmed a part of him he had encased in ice. “That was undoubtedly not wise, Miss Burke.”
“Perhaps not. But I knew you.” She looked at him fully for only a moment before she looked away, across the garden. Her voice became so soft, he had to take a step nearer to hear. “You were the man who left the comforts and assurances of home to prove himself to the world. You were the man who, through his own merit, became a respected officer. You were the man who wrote Emily of your concerns on behalf of your men. Of your quests for fairness and justice. Of your constant concern for their welfare.” She hid her twisting hands behind her back, against the column. “You were the man who wrote openly to your younger sister of your love for her and your commitment to her happiness. You have no idea how I envied Emily such a brother.”
She might as well have fired a pistol point-blank into his gut, such was the force of her quiet words and penetrating insight. In the course of less than a minute, she had presented him with a picture of his better self, of the man he had once prided himself on becoming. Before his descent into bitterness and despair. Before he had let himself become a cad, a libertine, and a debauched drunk. Before he had taught himself not to care. But a year of drunken excess, profligacy, and habituation to vice had not dulled the pain one whit.
The warmth of understanding, of
being understood
, filled him, softening him. He almost took another step nearer to her. Almost. But he could not. He could
not
touch her.
Instead, Del set his animal instinct, his natural, strong physical attraction to her, loose. He let his eyes range over the picture she presented.
She was pressed against the column, with her hands behind her back. Her elbows fanned out one to either side, rather like wings. The golden candlelight spilling from the tall windows and filtering down through the arbor dappled one side of the columns and left her gilded with the aura of an angel. An earthly reminder of moral failings.
But he didn’t want to see her as anything approaching angelic. He didn’t want to feel the pull of heaven-taught morality. She was not an angel—she was real. Her chest rose and fell with the same breath as every other being. Her dark, solemn eyes were alive. She was a beautiful, living, breathing woman. And he was a living, breathing man.
“I am many things, Miss Burke, but I am enough of a man to be very”—he let his voice drop lower, to a murmured growl—“very attracted to you.”
He watched his words sink into her with a visible weight, her shoulders curling in to hold them close. Her face colored, a sweep of delicate rose washing across her cheeks. It was so easy, too easy, to give in to her attractions. She was everything beautiful and feminine. Everything he could have wanted. Before. Before Emily’s death. Before the blackmail letter.
God almighty.
He felt torn in half, anguished, his mind at war with his body.
He spoke, more to himself than to her. “Perhaps. I’m just enough of a gentleman to remember you are not at all for the likes of me. To know you are completely and utterly out of bounds. I ought not to sully you with any of my attentions.”
“You don’t sully me.” The words tumbled out of her on a breathless exhalation.
“Don’t I? Can you tell me you haven’t been warned against me?”
“No, I can’t.” She looked down at her toes. “I have been warned. I have been expressly forbidden to have anything to do with you—to so much as speak with you.”
He let a long silence stretch out between them until he drew her eyes back to his. “But?” he prompted gently.
“But. I may be shy of most people, Viscount Darling, but as I said, I do not suffer from timidity of purpose. I have always been resolute, but today I have decided to be daring.”

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