An Invitation to Sin (6 page)

At the same time, he wasn't going to be tricked into a compromising situation and a marriage if he didn't even get another kiss first. "Shouldn't we have a chaperone or something in here?"

"My maid is in the hallway by now, if that makes you feel safer," she said absently, obviously concentrating on her sketching. "She generally stays out of the room because she either snores or fidgets. It's very distracting."

It began to dawn on him that she truly had forgotten the kiss, put it completely behind her. Hm. Chits didn't do that where he was concerned. And it had been a pleasant kiss,damn it all. "It actually wasn't my safety I was considering," he returned.

"Your virtue, then." With a self-amused smile she continued scratching the pencil along the paper.

So now she felt comfortable enough with him to make jokes. Next she'd be laughing to all her sisters about how he'd kissed her and had had to apologize for it. "Mm hm." Before he could change his mind about the wisdom of his actions, Zachary pushed away from the window. He could always just apologize again.

"You're moving. Stop moving."

He ignored her admonishment, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her, perched on her prim little stool. "Miss Witfeld," he said, tilting her chin up again with his fingers, "I don't think you know me quite well enough yet to comment about my virtue—or lack thereof." Slowly he leaned down toward her.

"Oh," she breathed.

He meant to stop an inch away from her, meant only to point out that he wasn't merely a clay model waiting to be drawn onto paper, or a jester because he liked to jest. Instead her soft mouth, the startled but unafraid expression in her deep green eyes, beckoned him. Closing his own eyes, he touched his mouth to hers for the second time that morning. A moment later the pencil hit the hardwood floor and her hand slid around the back of his neck.

"You know Caro must be sketching him," a female voice came faintly from the bottom of the stairs, and he broke the kiss.

Her eyes were still closed, her face upturned. "Miss Witfeld," he murmured, "we're about to have company."

"I'm going to take up painting, if it means I get to spend time with Lord Zachary," another voice said from closer by.

Caroline's eyes flew open. "Get back over there," she hissed urgently, grabbing up her pencil and jabbing it toward the window.

"I am," he returned in the same low voice, backing to the row of windows and returning to his pose.

So she truly wasn't interested in trapping him into marriage, then. If she had been, wrapping her arms around his shoulders or falling on him would have taken care of that. The first time, he could claim an honest, if witless, mistake on his part. But now Zachary was sweating. Good God, that had been a stupid, reckless thing to do. And as before, it left him not precisely reeling, but tingling all the way down his spine.

"Caro?" The first girl scurried into the room, one, two. five others on her heels. All six dipped into a wave of curtsies in his direction, so many skirts waving he could practically feel the breeze. "Lord Zachary."

"Good morning, ladies," he returned, smiling.

"We looked everywhere for you," the youngest, Violet or Viola or something, said. "Breakfast is ready, Lord Zachary."

He looked over their heads at Caroline. Her color was high; if the sisters' attention hadn't all been concentrated on him, she and he might still have been in trouble. "May I move now, Miss Witfeld?"

She shook herself. "Yes, of course. I'd like to sketch your hands later, though. Perhaps out in the garden?"

"Certainly." Caroline Witfeld was a single-minded chit, and more composed than he would have expected, if she was still thinking about the portrait after two damned kisses.

"You can't monopolize him, Caro," one of the twin girls protested, grabbing his arm and towing him toward the door. In the flurry of activity he couldn't even tell which of the sisters had hold of his other arm. "We want to show him Trowbridge."

"And the garden and the pond," another said.

"The wildflowers on the hillsides are lovely this time of year."

"We could take one of the riding trails, Lord Zachary. You could ride Sagramore."

"I'd be pleased to go," he commented. "But of course I am at my aunt's disposal."

"Oh, you
must
come visit with us!"

Well, at least here he seemed to be more than an extraneous sibling. Zachary nodded. "I'll do my best."

Halfway through breakfast Mrs. Witfeld appeared, arm in arm with Aunt Tremaine. "Girls, what do you think?" their mother said, her voice quavering with excitement. "I've been talking with Gladys, and she's agreed to stay for at least the next fortnight."

"Hurray!"

"And so, even with the monthly soiree at the assembly rooms already set for Thursday, I thought this would be a wonderful occasion to hold a ball of our own!" Her pale green eyes swept around and caught Zachary.

He'd seen that look before. Aunt Tremaine might not have matchmaking in mind, but someone did. Amid the general cheers and cacophony that followed Mrs. Witfeld's pronouncement, he did some surveying of his own. All the girls were making plans for buying new gowns and deciding on a theme for the party—all but one.

Caroline finished her buttered toast, her gaze on her plate and her focus on something private and personal. He wondered whether she'd even heard the announcement of the ball. Her father had said that two of his daughters had common sense; she was obviously one of them.

"Caro, are you going into Trowbridge with us?"

She blinked, looking up. "Hm? No. I have some work to do."

"You always have work to do." The one with the lightest-colored hair, Susan, he thought, leaned over to touch his arm. "You're coming with us, aren't you, Lord Zachary? We promised we'd show you the town."

He knew where he'd rather stay, but Griffins weren't rude. "I'd be delighted—if Aunt Tremaine has no objection."

"Heavens, no. Sally and I have planning to do."

"I can't wait to see the look on Mary Gorman's face," another Witfeld chit whispered. "She'll die when she sees who's staying with us."

"Are you certain you won't come, Caro?"

Zachary glanced at her again. She wasn't daydreaming now. In fact, she was looking straight at him—and unless he was greatly mistaken, she didn't look very happy. Apparently he'd done something to provoke her again. Good. "I'm afraid I can't leave my ears behind," he said, to the laughter of the others. "But they'll return."

Her jaw twitched, "Don't mind me. I'm certain I can make do without your ears for the morning."

One of the other girls stood and moved behind Caroline, placing her hands on her sister's shoulders. "Do come with us. If anyone's going to help me choose colors and material for a new gown, I want it to be you." She leaned over and kissed Caroline's cheek. "Please?"

Ah, the other one who had some common sense. Zachary couldn't remember her name, but he felt unexpectedly grateful to her. Honey-colored curls framed her oval face as she glanced at him from beneath long eyelashes. Very nice, but uncharacteristically for him, it was still the Witfeld chit with the quick mouth and the unladylike snort who kept his attention. "Allow me to add in my request for your company, as well, Miss Witfeld," he drawled. "The more the merrier."

Caroline sighed. "Oh, very well.
If
you'll still allow me to sketch you in the garden this afternoon."

"Caroline," her mother admonished. "You shouldn't make ultimatums to our guests. And you shouldn't monopolize his company, especially when you have unmar—"

"I always keep my word," Zachary cut in, unwilling to hear that particular sentence completed. "My hands will be in the garden this afternoon, alongside my ears." Until he could figure out why he preferred the one Witfeld girl who didn't seem interested in pursuing anything more than his image on canvas, he would continue to make an effort to keep her close by.

Lord Zachary rode beside them, chatting amiably with Violet and Grace about the state of the roads in Wiltshire, and looking like the very model of a proper English nobleman. His gray gelding was at least three-quarters Arabian, though she wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to discover that Sagramore was a Thoroughbred.

Zachary was even more obviously a thoroughbred, sitting easily in the saddle, with one hand loosely holding the reins and the other gesturing at a stand of elm trees as though they were a novelty he'd never viewed before— simply because Violet had pointed them out to him. The breeze caught his dark hair, lifting it from his collar and blowing strands across one gray eye as he laughed at some silly comment of Grace's.

As far as she knew, he hadn't kissed any of her sisters— at least not yet. He'd only been there for twenty-four hours, though. If he wanted to, he could probably ruin every female in the county within a week, especially with the way they all fawned over him. Caroline sniffed, turning to view the creek on her side of the barouche. So what if he'd chosen to kiss her, and so what if he did it well? Her sisters could have him—once she'd finished sketching and painting him, that was.

Sagramore swung around to her side of the carriage. She lifted her gaze as Zachary doffed his blue beaver hat at her. "I didn't mean to take you away from your sketching," he said, smiling.

"Of course you did. What I don't see is why. You have six attractive young ladies here all trying to chat with you. Did you really need one more?"

His grin deepened. "Yes."

"And why is that?" she returned, annoyed at his presumption. He undoubtedly thought she would be flattered. She only had three weeks, however, to submit the most perfect portrait she'd ever done. And she would need every minute of that time—especially if her sisters kept trying to drag her subject into town, and even if she felt as though she could draw him with her eyes closed.

At the same time she wondered why his presence felt like a warm afternoon breeze, fresh and alive and a little wild. And she wondered why she liked that, when in general she had no time for such silliness, and when now in particular she had more important things with which to occupy herself.

"It's very complicated," he returned. "I think that perhaps I'm your muse, your inspiration. I'd hate to deny you my presence."

She snorted. "Oh, good heavens." Very well, perhaps taking the time to visit Trowbridge wasn't annoying as much as it was distracting.

"I feel inspired," Joanna muttered, jabbing her again.

Caroline had to admit, she hadn't expected one of the Griffin men to be so good-humored—or so witty. The way the Duke of Melbourne helped set government policy and bought and sold property and goods, she'd expected hard, dry, old, cigar-smoking curmudgeons. Perhaps that was it. She was merely surprised by Zachary, and thus set a little off balance. Though why that mattered when she only needed his outsides for a painting, she had no idea.

"If you were my muse, you would be in the garden sitting for me right now while I sketched your hands," she noted, since he continued to gaze at her.

He put an elegant hand to his chest. "One would almost think you're trying to lead me down the garden path, Miss Witfeld."

"Caro?" Susan exclaimed from the facing seat, giving a shout of laughter. "She'd never even look at you if she didn't need your face for her painting. She's never going to get married."

"Really?" Zachary lifted an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Susan, be quiet!" Caroline snapped, her face heating. "That is neither Lord Zachary's concern, nor his affair."

"I was only teasing."

"It wasn't amusing," Caroline continued, her pride still stinging, though she wasn't certain why. Susan hadn't told anything but the truth. "What if I'd said that your one object in life was
to
marry?"

"Caroline!"

Probably anticipating Susan's mortification, Zachary managed to make himself scarce, trotting up in front of the barouche, where he could pretend he hadn't heard any of the exchange.

"Stop it, Caro," Susan bit out, pitching her voice lower. "Just because you don't want him doesn't mean you have to ruin any chance for the rest of us."

"Maybe if you would all stop assaulting him, one of you might have a chance," Caroline returned. "You frighten me, and I know you. I'm surprised Lord Zachary hasn't fled back to London already."

"Nonsense." This time it was Julia protesting. "I daresay the attention flatters him. And he's bound to choose one of us."

"Oh, yes, I'm certain he's remained single solely in anticipation of his visit with the Witfeld girls. Be serious, Julia. He could marry any female he wanted. Why would he choose one of you?"

"Why not? When you consider it, the odds of him marrying one of six of us are greater than him marrying one of one from some other family."

Caroline eyed Susan. "That's the worst math I've ever heard, even from you."

"Well, I know one thing," Anne finally put in. "If we sit here arguing with one another, he won't want to have anything to do with any of us. And don't forget, it's in our best interest to help Caro get her portrait done."

"So she can move to Vienna, and Papa and Mama can concentrate on marrying off the rest of us." Violet smoothed at her skirt.

"Yes, I'll miss you, too," Caroline noted, pretending her sisters' easy dismissal of her didn't hurt.

"I say that we take turns," Anne suggested. "Then we won't be overwhelming him with numbers, and we'll each get a chance." She reached over and patted Caroline's knee. "And we only want you to go to Vienna so we'll be able to visit you there."

Caroline smiled, hoping Anne could sense her gratitude. "Just please don't divide his time up so much that I don't have the opportunity to paint him."

"I'll give you one of my times," Violet said unexpectedly, scowling. "I didn't mean to sound so awful, Caro."

"Don't worry; I understand," she returned, even though she wasn't entirely certain she did. The life her sisters seemed to crave so desperately didn't seem like much of a life to her. Even if it entailed marriage to a man with warm gray eyes and a very nice seat in the saddle.

"But Violet, you're only fifteen. I don't think you should have any time with him. Or Anne, either."

"I'll be eighteen in nine weeks, Grace," Anne returned succinctly. "I get time. In fact, I'll make out a chart tonight. Everyone think of an excursion or something you'd like to do, and I'll give us each an appointed time."

"Why you?" Julia demanded.

"Because you couldn't make a chart if your life depended on it," Joanna told her twin. "We all get to approve it, though, Anne."

"Of course."

They crossed the ancient stone bridge that spanned Eldridge Creek and turned onto the main street of Trow-bridge. Heads immediately began to turn, but they weren't looking at the Witfeld girls; they were all gazing at the Witfelds' houseguest. And Caroline could hardly blame them for their interest as he dismounted and strolled back to the barouche to offer his assistance as they disembarked. She wondered what he would say if he knew the seven girls had just decided to divide him up like a pie.

One by one her sisters grabbed onto him to climb to the ground, though they'd never needed assistance before that she could remember. Caroline waited until last, both because she didn't want to be trampled, and because it seemed the most dignified thing to do.

"All teasing aside, I am glad you decided to join us," Zachary said, curling his fingers around hers as he helped her to the ground.

"I did so because my sisters asked me to," she returned, deciding she needed to make one thing perfectly clear to him. "Not because you kissed me."

He nodded. "But you didn't stay away because I kissed you, either."

Caroline looked up at him; she had to, since tall as she was, the top of her head still came only to his chin. "That would have been foolish on my part," she noted, trying to ignore the warmth of his sleeve as he wrapped her hand around his arm, "since I've already told you that I need to paint your portrait."

"So you're saying that I took unfair advantage of your need," he drawled, following the flock toward a milliner's shop.

"I'm beginning to think you're baiting me, Lo… Zachary."

"It's about time you realized. I'd begun to fear for your sensibility, until I heard the way you laugh."

She blushed. "I can't help the way I laugh." She'd tried, endlessly, even to the point of pinching her nose closed when she chuckled. That, though, had only made her choke. "You shouldn't make fun."

"I wasn't making fun," he said, his expression growing more solemn. "I like the way you laugh. Why do you think I've been baiting you?"

Julia swept in to take his free arm before she could conjure a response to that, and Joanna managed to maneuver between him and Caroline. She shook her head at her siblings as she fell to the back of the crowd. For heaven's sake, they hadn't given Zachary a moment to breathe since he'd arrived.

Caroline hung back a moment, watching. Perhaps that was why he seemed to focus on her—because she wasn't trying to smother him.

She shook herself. Of course she wasn't trying to smother him. The handsome features helped, but he could have been a three-eyed serpent as long as he was a nobleman and agreed to be painted. So he had kissed her. If it ensured that he would sit for her, she would tolerate it. And actually, it hadn't been at all unpleasant.

"Caro, what did he say to you?" Anne said from beside her.

"What? Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"You're blushing."

"No, I'm not," she stammered. "It's warm. That's all."

"If you say so."

Violet came bouncing out of the milliner's. "He's going to take us fishing!" she announced.

"How did that come about?" Caroline asked, ushering her sister back into the shop before everyone in town heard her announcement.

"Grace asked him what he liked to do in the country, and he said fishing," Violet returned. "And then Susan said she'd never been fishing, and he said he would take us all. He said everyone should experience fishing at least once."

"I'm still making a chart," Anne grumbled.

"I think he likes us very much," their youngest sister crowed. "And I changed my mind; I'm not giving up any of my time with him. Mama said if I could find a husband, I could get married."

As she stepped inside the small, crowded shop, Caroline began to wonder whether Lord Zachary Griffin might be insane. She could think of no other reason a man would volunteer to take a half dozen young women fishing. As she caught sight of him, he had a bonnet over each hand and was giving his opinion of a third, which Grace was wearing.

Amazing. Amiable and easygoing as he seemed to be, it was no wonder that all of her sisters were half in love with him—though she wasn't certain their enthusiasm had as much to do with marrying him as it did with marrying his wealth and family name.

I must be insane
, Zachary thought, sighing as he held two bonnets aloft. One of the Witfeld girls spun and twirled in front of a mirror, though it was fairly obvious that the preening was solely for his benefit. He wondered what she would do if he said he liked the gaudy purple hat in the corner.

For a moment he considered it, but there seemed to be enough mischief brewing already. Instead he indicated the pretty pale blue bonnet and then had to duck backward when three of the sisters reached for it at the same time.

"I was looking at them first," the one with the lightest hair said, holding it over her head.

One of the twin girls sniffed. "Fine. I'm here for silk to make a gown, anyway." She faced him. "Lady Gladys said your favorite color is green. Is that true?"

He had no idea. "Yes, I suppose it is," he said, then watched the stampede to the green-colored silks and muslin.

"Fishing?" a soft voice said to his left.

The smile he couldn't seem to suppress touched his mouth again as he faced Caroline Witfeld. She was so obviously trying to be serious about her painting that he couldn't resist teasing her away from it. If she hadn't been skilled at her drawing he wouldn't have done it, so thank God she was. A sense of humor amid the swarm of high-pitched nonsense at least gave him a little space for what remained of his sanity. "I don't suppose you'd like to go fishing as well? I'd let you sketch my trout."

Her lips twitched. "I have better things to do, thank you very much."

"You'd be surprised, Miss Witfeld, how relaxing a day of fishing can be. It might do you some good."

One fine eyebrow arched. "Are you suggesting I need to relax?"

He took a slow step closer, very aware of the glances they were getting from the rest of the store's occupants. "You're the one who apparently never comes into town, doesn't need any new ball gowns, doesn't wish to get married, and hides in her conservatory all day."

"I do not hide," she stated, putting her hands on her slender hips and now obviously annoyed. "Make fun if you like, but at least I have a purpose in life."