Sinful Deeds

Sinful
Deeds

Samantha Holt

Chapter One

Dante Cynfell had received many slaps
across the face. Too many to count really. But none had stung quite as this one
had. He put a hand to his cheek and felt the heat where her palm had connected
with his skin. How did this tiny woman create such a sting? He stared at her
and noted she looked just as shocked.

Josephine
had never struck out at him. Ever. She turned her delicate hand over and looked
at the palm. He knew she was thinking the same. If there was ever a gentler
woman than Josephine, he’d never met her.

He drew
in a breath and tried to clear the haze of alcohol from his head. It was well
past midnight and he’d been drinking since early afternoon. What exactly had he
done wrong? He hadn’t said anything foolish...at least he didn’t think so.
Josephine had been asleep, dressed in some sensual slip of a gown when he had
come in—practically an invitation to wake her and strip it from her. So that
couldn’t have been it.

Her
breasts rose and fell beneath that cherry red gown, and splotches of similar
colour began to reveal themselves on her cheeks. He glanced at the candle
sputtering in protest of having been lit so long and took a moment to light a
few lamps. Maybe that would give her a chance to gather herself.

“Don’t
turn your back on me, Dante Cynfell,” she commanded.

“We
cannot very well argue in the dark, now can we?” he drawled.

He
circulated the room and turned up the lamps until a decent glow revealed the
true extent of the redness in her cheeks. His mistress was furious with him.

But
why?

Dante
came back to stand in front of her and folded his arms across his chest. “Now
what exactly did I do to deserve that?”

Josephine
curled the hand she had used to slap him. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she said
softly, “but you startled me.”

“It
wouldn’t be the first time I’ve snuck into your bed.”
By a long reach.

For
four years, he’d been slipping into the beautiful Josephine’s bed. She had
caught his eye shortly after the death of her husband, and he’d wasted no time
in wooing her. Josephine had come easily too, as women always did.

“I
warned you about coming in late.” She put her hands to her hips. “I
keep
warning you.”

“I
suppose you want me to come in at nine o’ clock and tuck you in? How exciting,”
he said dryly.

“Is
that all you think about? Excitement? Dante,” she released a long and heavy
sigh, “I have never asked for much from you, but I had asked you to be here
before it was too late. I’ve been waiting for you all evening. I had wanted
to...to...”

Tears
shimmered in her eyes, and tension coiled in his belly. He’d always counted
himself lucky to have Josephine as a mistress. She was beautiful, kind, caring
and clever. His friends and society liked her too. She never spoke of their
arrangement and no one cared much about it thanks to her status as a widow. She
behaved with perfect decorum making it very easy to keep her as a mistress.

And, of
course, he had a warm, willing partner visit whenever he wanted. As far as he
knew, she’d been quite happy with their arrangement. He provided her with
warmth, food and shelter, and she gave him her body and her lovely company in
return.

Never
before had she cried in front of him.

He
reached out and snapped his hand back when she shied away from him. She slumped
onto the bed, her skirts spreading out across the decadent pale green bedding.
Did she want more presents? More jewellery perhaps? Had he not made her feel
treasured enough?

Dante glanced
around the bedroom of her townhouse that he rented for her and scowled. She had
everything. A room for her little hobby, more jewels than the queen, the latest
furnishings. The whole house had been decorated to her tastes. While he
wouldn’t have minded turning her bedroom into a room specifically for making
love with touches of red and gold, she had gone for a pale green theme with
cream painted furnishings and wallpaper with little birds on.

Birds
did not equal sensuality to his mind. But never mind that. It was her choice,
was his point. Everything about their arrangement had been decided by her. He
simply turned up as and when he wanted her company. What more did she want from
him?

“Jo-Jo,
will you tell me exactly why my cheek is stinging like the devil and you look
like a child who has just dropped her ice cream?”

“A
child?”

She lifted
her gaze to his. God, how those hazel eyes never failed to sear him to the
core. Even now he wanted her.

“Are
you saying I’m petulant?”

That
was a trick. He wasn’t that daft. Anything he said would be wrong right now.
Perhaps actions would be better than words. Sinking down on the bed beside her,
he took her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips. He kissed one delicate
finger, then the next, and the next. Her breaths quickened audibly, and he
couldn’t help smile against her skin. It had always been like this between
them. Even after four years, his desire for her had not run dry. As soon as he
had spied her at one of the London balls, he’d needed her.

“Jo-Jo,
what is wrong?” He eased closer and swept her long golden hair behind one
shoulder so he could reach her neck. She smelled of roses—his favourite
fragrance. He inhaled and laid his lips gently to her neck. “Jo-Jo, sweet
Jo-Jo...” He kissed a trail up and down her neck before teasing her lobe. Dante
couldn’t resist. Hand to her waist, he curved it around her and pulled her
tight to him while hot desire burned through him.

Josephine
gave into him though she refused to touch him or even turn her head toward him.
She let him kiss her neck, sank ever so slightly into him. Her body responded
to him as it always did. He glanced down to see nipples tight against the silk
fabric. He knew she wasn’t wearing a corset from the feel of her ribs
contracting against his palm, but the sight of those hard nubs begging for his
touch made him inhale a sharp breath. Tiny tremors ran through her form, and
she released a faint moan. He nibbled her lobe and blew into it, feeling a
strong shudder from her in response.

He
moved his hand up and cupped a breast. “Jo-Jo, I need you,” he murmured. “So
badly.”

“Oh,
Dante...”

“I always
need you. I’ll not be late again, I promise.”

She
stiffened. Then her fingers curled around his wrist. He waited for her to
direct his hand down but no...She thrust his hand away and tore herself from
him.

Josephine
stood, her luxurious cherry gown shimmering around her in falls of silk. He
gritted his teeth and tried not to give into the impulse to tear the thing from
her. She had never been one for games and he appreciated that about her. Was
she trying to send him mad with want?

“No...”
Her chin trembled. “No more lies. You always make that promise and still you
are late. I spend hours in my finest clothes, waiting for you, only for you to
come in and wake me up in the early hours. I cannot function like this anymore,
Dante. I simply can’t do it.”

He
shoved a hand through his hair. He knew she’d been cross with him the past few
times he was late, but she knew well enough he was terrible at keeping track of
time. And once one drink became another and another...Well, time became irrelevant.

“You
never used to have a problem with it,” he said bitterly. Being scolded by his
mistress didn’t much appeal right now, particularly now the warm haze of alcohol
was being replaced by a pounding ache in his head and a dry tongue.

“You’re
right.” She nodded and began to pace. Back and forth past him. Back and forth.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so agitated. She paused and
eyed him. “I love you, Dante. I really do. And...” A tiny sob spilled from her
lips before she straightened her shoulders. “I cannot do this anymore. I don’t
have the power to change you, nor the will. You are who you are, and I do love
you.”

Love.
Did she have to keep saying that? He knew Josephine loved him. She said it
often enough. He even appreciated it but had never quite known how to respond.
Usually it was with
I adore you
or
You are the most divine creature
on earth
. None of those would work right now. In fact, he was thoroughly
lost. Women seldom baffled him, particularly not the honest and sweet
Josephine. He half-hoped he’d drunk something awful and this was all a
nightmare.

“I
don’t wish to be your mistress anymore.”

The
words were so quiet, he had to stare at her for several moments to let them
absorb. When they did, he swore she could have knocked him over with a feather.
His Josephine...ending things with
him
? No, it wasn’t possible.

“No.”

“Yes,”
she said just as softly. “I have had some wonderful times with you, but I don’t
wish to be a mistress anymore. The late nights, the drunken behaviour...even
the occasional spiteful remark from others.”

“What
spiteful remarks? By God, if I find out...”

She
waved a hand. “There will always be spiteful remarks. You are an eligible man,
and I am in the way of many women hoping for a dalliance or more with you.”

He
snorted. “They should be wise enough to realise that you’re not in the way.
I’ll never marry.”

Josephine
gave him a sad look. “I know you won’t.”

Thrusting
both hands into his hair, he propped his elbows on his knees and stared at his
lap. He needed a moment to absorb this. Josephine had always been there for
him. He could drop by at a moment’s notice and be guaranteed a warm welcome.
They talked, laughed, and made love. To him, things could not get any more
perfect. In truth, he’d envisioned keeping her as his mistress forever.

And why
not? Society couldn’t care two figs about what a widow got up to as long as she
didn’t flash it about, and his allowance from his brother was enough to keep
her in luxury. Once he had his father’s townhouse, he’d have everything a man could
ever want. He certainly couldn’t imagine another woman taking her place.

So why
was that not enough for her?

“Do you
want more money? A bigger house?”

She
pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“More
presents?”

“No.”

“I’ll
visit you more frequently then. I thought you liked the time to yourself to
paint.”

“No,
Dante.” Her tone held such a solemn note that his heart twisted.

“Then
what? What do you want?”

“Everything
you cannot give me.” She drew a handkerchief from the drawer of her dresser and
dabbed under her eyes. “I want love, marriage...a man who won’t leave me
waiting for hours on end in the vague hope he might want to see me. A man who
wants more than my body.”

“More
than your body? You know full well I don’t just want you for your body.”

She
tilted her head. “Do I?”

“Of
course you damn well do. Bloody hell, I’ve been faithful to you for four years.
I’ve listened to your every word and helped you when you were sick. I thought
we were friends, not just lovers.”

“Do not
quote faithfulness as something to which I should owe you my thanks. I would
not have agreed to this had I thought you’d be bedding other women. And yes, we
are friends. I hope we can remain friends. But it’s not enough for me anymore.
I-I’m unhappy.”

That
word stabbed him like a knife to the gut. He’d always thought she was content
with their arrangement. Josephine had always been like a light to him. Always
happy, always smiling. No matter what his day had brought him, he could count
on her to greet him with a smile.

“What will
you do without me? You have no money.”

“I can
manage.”

“I
won’t see you begging on the streets.”

“I
won’t have to.”

She
took a step forwards and laid a hand across his arm. It was his turn to brush
it away. How dare she throw everything they had away? Yes, it might not be
marriage and declarations of undying love, but it was affection, devotion, and
passion. How many other married couples could claim to have as much?

None,
in his opinion.

He
stood. This was merely some silly feminine outburst. Perhaps her courses were
due and she was suffering from melancholy. He would leave her a week and return
after. Then she’d be back to her usual sweet self.

“Clearly,
I am not welcome tonight.” He snatched his hat from where he’d flung it aside
and it had skidded across the little sewing table. After ramming it onto his
head, he tore open her bedroom door and gave her one last look. “I shall return
in a week and see you then.”

“No,
you will not,” came her quiet response as he stormed down the stairs. A deep,
angry hurt ripped at his guts like the claws of the devil. There was no way
Josephine could live without him. No way.