Sinful Deeds (8 page)

“Jo-Jo,”
he rasped. “Holy Christ.”

“Yes,”
she answered, certain he felt the same.

She
rode him hard with a wild abandon she hadn’t felt in a long time—not since
their first year together. Pleasure coiled deep inside her, waiting to explode,
but she held onto it. She wanted to savour this. Whatever happened in the future,
she needed to carry this moment with her.

The
cords in his neck stood out as he helped by pounding up into her. The sound of
rasping breaths and the odd curse filled the room. Beneath them, the chaise
creaked in protest. She began to tremble from head to toe. She wouldn’t be able
to hold back much longer.

“Yes,”
he urged. “Damn it, yes. Jo—”

At the
feel of his body pulsing deep inside her, her orgasm struck. Pure, blinding and
blissful. It streamed through every part of her and she fell forwards, her head
rested against his while it pulsed through her.
Pleasure, pleasure,
pleasure,
her body sang.

He
spilled inside her—something he’d never done before. The primitive sensation of
two bodies so close merely seemed to extend the beautiful sensations still
simmering through her veins. Tomorrow she might regret it but not for now.

Slick
with sweat and exhausted, they sat together for some time. Finally, he eased
her off him and grabbed his shirt to sling over her shoulders. Dante gathered
her to him and stood, holding her across his arms. She could not help but grip
his neck and nestle into the strength of him.

He
carried her to the bed that had once been hers. Clean bedding was on it,
waiting for someone. That new mistress perhaps. A sharp jolt managed to pierce
her blissful haze, but she didn’t let it carry her away.

Dante
eased her into the sheets and slipped in next to her. He held her close so that
she could hear the heavy beat of his heart. If she put her hand to her own
chest, she was fairly certain it would echo that sound.

He stroked
and caressed her. How many times had she wanted this? To be held and feel
loved. In the past year or so, he had often been too drunk to even bother. He’d
fallen asleep and slumped aside, leaving her feeling used and hurt.

“Come
back to me,” he murmured.

“I—” It
would be so easy. Yes. She’d have her old life back. Move back in, see Dante
regularly. Be with the man she still unfortunately loved. But she was worth
more than that. For all her confusion, she knew that now. She didn’t want to be
known as Lord Dante Cynfell’s mistress anymore. “I cannot.”

He
tensed against her and drew back to eye her. “This is about Robert Allen isn’t
it?”

Josephine
scowled. “No, why would you say that?”

“You’re
waiting for him to offer for you. He’s obviously interested. I mean, why else
would he call on you all times of the day and get people to buy your
paintings—”

She
tried to tear away. “You mean you don’t believe anyone would buy my paintings
if it were not for Robbie? I suppose you think I have no talent at all and that
I’m simply wasting my time.”

“No.”
He grabbed her. “No, damn it. That’s not what I meant at all. I’ve seen you
paint. I know how talented you are, even if I do not fully understand art. I’m
just—” he huffed a sigh “—I’m jealous. I’m damn well jealous. I want to punch
the man every time you go near him. I want to tear his guts out when you smile
at him and when he gives you this fond look that is frankly entirely
inappropriate, I—”

Josephine
put at hand to his arm. “You do not have to worry about Robbie.”

She
heard his teeth grind at the mention of his name. “I swear if I’d have realised
your ambitions, I would have done something. I would have paid for an
exhibition or for your paintings to tour around the continent or something. I
thought it was a mere hobby. I should have known...blast it all.”

“Perhaps
I should have said too.”

“Why do
you let him do all these things for you but not me, unless you want him to
marry you?”

“Robbie
is a good friend but, believe me, he has no interest in marrying me. Robbie,
um, doesn’t like women.”

“He
doesn’t like...” She nodded slowly. “Oh, I see.” He chuckled. “Ah.”

“Dante,
if you were willing to do all that for me. If you were willing to go to work,
to change your lifestyle, why will you still not marry me?”

“I
didn’t just go to work for you,” he grumbled.

She
patted his arm in understanding. Josephine understood what he’d been through as
a child—how lack of expectation had driven him to be the best at the only thing
he knew how to do—partying and drinking. But he’d never fully explained
marriage. It seemed that if that word was uttered, he curled up in a ball, and
she’d simply given up trying to find out what the problem was.

“You’ve
never met my mother. She’s a bitter old thing. I suppose having seven boys took
its toll or something. But according to my uncle, she used to be quite the
woman. Beautiful, fun, even outrageous. The same with my father. I heard him
talking to my uncle once about the change in her after they married. Julian was
conceived out of wedlock but it seemed that as soon as they were married, she
only kept him company to bear him sons. Luckily for her, she conceived easily
so she spent most of her time living in the house in Kent.” He rubbed her arm
absent-mindedly. “Neither of them were particularly kind to one another and we
rarely saw her.” Dante’s gaze connected with hers. “Do you not see? I care for
you too much to do that to you. I won’t do that to any children we might have.”

Josephine
held her breath. What could she say? She knew he’d never been close to his
mother but not that it had affected him so much. Little boys needed their
mothers. If she ever had a son, she would want to keep him close for the rest
of his life, even when he was grown and married. But she was not Dante’s mother
and even if she said as much, she doubted he would believe her.

“So...”
She released the air in her lungs slowly. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

He
nodded grimly. “It seems we are.”

“Let me guess, he’s in the library.”

The
butler shook his head and raised one solemn eyebrow. “No, my lord. In the rear
gardens.”

Dante
scowled. That didn’t sound at all like his brother. Why, the day was beautiful
now that they were in August. Butterflies flitted about; flowers released their
scents. He could almost picture the wild rabbits hopping about the fields
behind the house just as they had when he and his brothers were children. It
certainly wasn’t the sort of environment he’d expect his brother to be in.

“Shall
I...?”

Dante
held up a hand. “I remember where the gardens are, Bramley, thank you.”

He
strode through the house, ignoring the reproachful glares of several of his
ancient,
ancient
ancestors. He wanted to turn on them and glare back.
Aren’t
you happy now?
he’d say.
I’m working. No longer a shame to my family and
all that.
But he supposed if they rose from the grave they’d be more likely
to be wondering why he hadn’t found himself a rich wife and sired dozens of
children.

In
truth, the idea of being with any other woman aside from Josephine turned his
stomach. In the past two months he’d had plenty of opportunity. Many wanted to
warm his bed and yet...Damn it, how could he? He supposed he would have to live
like a monk for the rest of his days.

After pushing
open the rear door, he stepped out into the bright sunlight and grimaced. Being
celibate for eternity didn’t hold much appeal either. He cupped a hand over his
eyes and peered around in search of his brother. There, on a bench at the very
end of the gardens and almost hidden from view, sat Julian and his wife. That
tabby of his and another cat were circling their legs and Julian and Viola
were...Dante squinted...God almighty, feeding each other. His brother appeared
to be smiling. Dante knew he was when his brother’s laugh rang out.

The
sound galvanised him into action. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard
his brother laugh—when they were boys perhaps? He hastened down the steps,
weaved past the rose bushes and strode by the neatly trimmed box hedges. He
coughed before he reached his brother and Viola to ensure they saw him approach.

It
didn’t work. Apparently his brother was still so enamoured with his new wife
that he did not care one jot if he looked a romantic fool in front of Dante. He
had to witness the stomach churning sight of his brother hand feeding his wife
a delicate meringue.

It was,
of course, only stomach-churning because he was not doing it. And naturally, if
he had been with a woman—no, Josephine—it would probably have turned more
scandalous long ago. He’d be running ripe strawberries over her breasts and
licking the juice from her nipples.

He drew
in a long breath before he stopped in front of them. He didn’t need to be
thinking of Josephine’s nipples whilst discussing business with his brother.
Hand to his mouth, he gave another cough.

Julian
lifted his head and squinted at him in the sunlight. “Dante. I wasn’t expecting
you so early.”

“Caught
the morning train,” he explained.

“I
assumed you’d be taking the later one seeing as how you never normally rise
before midday.”

“I have
been rising before midday for many months now,” he replied stiffly, feeling
somewhat irked by his brother’s low opinion of him. It might have been
warranted, but he didn’t need to hear it—not at the moment. He felt like an ass
enough as it was.

“I
brought the letters for you to sign.” Dante held out his briefcase.

“You
could have posted them.”

“I
wanted to speak with you about other opportunities. I have a few business
propositions that I think you’d be interested in. I also wanted to discuss the
townhouse.”

If his
brother was surprised, the only hint of it was the slight twitch of an eyebrow.
He stood and took the papers from him. “Why do you not sit and eat with Viola
for a moment while I get these signed. You can join me once you’ve eaten.”

He
considered the offer having skipped his morning meal and nodded. Viola smiled
and patted the spot next to her. She shifted and poured tea while he sat.

“Julian
says you’ve saved him a small fortune,” she said over the brim of her cup.

He
couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t feel intense pride at a few mere words, and it
was even more humiliating to feel it because of his older brother’s words.

Dante
lifted one shoulder. “It’s much easier for me to negotiate in person. People
are less likely to respond well to letters.”

Viola
gave him a tilted smile. “Well, you haven’t read many of Julian’s letters then.
But I agree. Negotiating in person is much more likely to get you a good deal.”

He
peered at his sister-in-law and pondered what she knew of negotiations. As a
coffee heiress, quite a bit he supposed.  

“So you
have some more deals Julian might be interested in?”

He
nodded and took a small sandwich. “I could make him some savings on his cotton
shipments, and I have an investment I think would be worth looking into.”

“Well,
you have been busy. I was in London only two weeks ago, and I was disappointed
that I didn’t see you at all.”

“You
should have let me know,” he chided lightly. “Anything for my favourite
sister-in-law.”

She
grinned. “Your only sister-in-law.” Viola titled her head, sending auburn curls
spilling down her shoulders in a chaotic manner. “I here tell you are quite the
serious man now, Dante. It seems the rumours are almost right.”

“I
didn’t think you were the type of woman to listen to rumours.”

“Not
normally—particularly when they involve me.” She gave him a wicked look, and he
had to wonder if his brother had met his match in this woman. “But when they
involve my new brothers, I listen carefully.”

He
shovelled down the sandwich and turned his attention to the cup of tea awaiting
him. “I suppose I have no choice but to hear these rumours.”

“That’s
what I like about you, Dante.” His sister-in-law popped a meringue in her mouth
and chewed it before continuing, “You are most perceptive.”

Gripping
the delicate china, he debated his options. He could stalk away and offend the
woman of whom he was steadily growing fonder.

And
risk his brother’s wrath.

Or he
could tolerate her tales of these rumours which she clearly wanted to speak with
him about, offer his reassurances and put Viola’s mind at ease. After all,
whatever these rumours were, they would be false. He hadn’t done anything
reckless since the last time he’d seen Josephine unless getting a little foxed
once or twice counted. Even that had been fairly excitement-free as he’d found
himself thoroughly bored and ended up in bed before midnight.

“What
are these rumours then? I know you cannot wait to tell me.”

“Not so
much that I cannot wait, but I feel I must get to the bottom of them. We are
family after all, and I love your brother dearly—which means I must love you.”

It was
an odd thought—being loved by anyone. He did love his brothers in a way but
they were all obliged to love one another. The only other person who had loved
him was Josephine.

“Well
then, get it over with.” He grinned to soften the blow of his words but he
suspected he could say much to Viola and get away with it. This was no shy,
retiring Englishwoman.

“It is
said that you are a broken man.”

He let
his brows rise. “Broken? Do I look broken?”

Viola
ran her gaze over him. “Not on the outside.” She jabbed his chest. “But what
about the inside?  You are pining for Mrs Beaumont aren’t you?”

He
rubbed his chest. “What would you know of her?”

“I know
that she is making a name for herself in the art world.”

He
nodded and gave a begrudging noise of assent. Not that he begrudged her
success. He couldn’t be prouder, but it annoyed him that he’d had this gem of a
woman under his nose for so long and not realised the extent of her talent. He
hated how her sudden fame brought their relationship under the spotlight too.
Dante had managed to avoid any gossip, but he supposed he knew it would be
there. Once their relationship had been entirely accepted and virtually
ignored. Now everyone would want to know of Mrs Josephine Beaumont’s past.

“I also
know that she was in love with you.”

“Was,
yes.”

“And
were you in love with her?”

He
looked into his sister-in-law’s eyes and tried not to groan. There would be no
lying to her. “Yes.”

Dante
didn’t miss the triumphant spark in her eyes. No wonder she’d coaxed her
brother into marrying her within weeks of visiting England. He’d wager few men
could argue with this woman.

“Why
did you let her go then?”

“Viola...”
he warned. As much as he was growing to like his brother’s wife, and maybe even
understand why Julian had risked another marriage, he wasn’t sure he could do
this.

“It’s
the same with all you Cynfell men, it seems. Terrified of getting hurt.”

Dante
placed down the cup for fear of crushing it. He wasn’t terrified. Sensible,
perhaps, but not terrified.

“You
know Julian didn’t want to marry me because he feared I’d die like his other
wives.”

“That’s
ridiculous,” he spluttered.

“Not to
him it wasn’t. I’d wager you thought you were protecting Josephine too.” She
tilted her head to view him. “This is the thing with you Cynfell brothers. You
all seem like rogues, but in reality, you’re chivalrous to the bone.”

“I fear
my dear brother has addled your wits or you’ve been listening to the wrong
gossip. I am far from chivalrous, as Josephine would tell you.”

“I’m
sure that’s not true. Besides, if she did not think you chivalrous, why would
she want to marry you?”

He
narrowed his gaze at her. “Now where did you hear that?”

A sly
smile slipped across her lips. “I have my sources.”

Diana.
He was willing to bet it was her. As nice as Josephine’s closest friend was,
she had an extremely loose tongue. Josephine was not the sort to talk of their
personal business, but she did confide in that bloody woman.

Drawing
in a breath, he held it and debated the platter of sandwiches. He didn’t have
an appetite now. Being confronted by Viola made all his reasons seem so
foolish—even if Josephine had understood. He couldn’t do that to her, and he
couldn’t do it to any children they might have.

“Julian
must have told you what our parents’ marriage was like. I refuse to repeat
that.”

“He has
told me. As has your mother.”

He
nearly had to stop his jaw from falling open. It was no secret that his mother
hated Americans. She hadn’t been at all pleased when Julian had asked Viola to
marry him. “My mother spoke to you about...” He shook his head. “You spoke to
her about her marriage?”

“Yes.”
Viola placed her hand over his. “And I think you should too.”

***

As the butler led him into the dower
house, Dante drew in a breath. He felt as though he was facing a firing squad
instead of his mother. Having gone over all the paperwork with his brother and
picked up on a few more hints from Viola, and perhaps even his brother, he promised
to visit with his mother.

He
tugged at his necktie and sat opposite her in the ancient Louis XV chair. His
mother sat as though she had been strapped to a board as usual. She’d always
seemed like a product of her time—rigid, traditional—until he’d heard of how
she’d been before she had married his father. He couldn’t imagine that now he
looked at the salt and pepper-haired woman in her finest peach silk.

“Dante,
I saw you arrive, but I did not think you would stop by to visit.”

“I came
to discuss business with Julian.”

“Yes,
he tells me you have taken quite the interest. About time.” She motioned to the
tray of tea someone had laid out before his arrival.

He
shook his head and waited for her to take her own cup. They lapsed into
silence. What could he say? Was he really considering pressing his own mother
for personal details of her marriage? Yet he couldn’t deny he wanted to know.
He needed to understand why their relationship had been so miserable and why it
had forced her to detach herself from them. Perhaps he hadn’t realised how
frustrating the not knowing had been until Viola prompted him.

“How
are you, Mother?”

“Well
enough. I’ll be going to Kent soon.”

“Excellent.”

Eyeing
the fragile blue and white cups, he gave in and reached for one. He didn’t need
a drink and he had a long journey home but he had to do
something
.

“What
is it, Dante?”

He
glanced at his mother in surprise, his hand hovering over the cup. “Pardon?”