Sinfully Yours (4 page)

“Ha, ha, ha.” Osborne smiled. “I did attend Oxford, you know.”

“For less than a term. As I recall, you were sent down for seducing the Provost’s wife.”

“Actually, it was the other way around,” corrected Osborne. “But nonetheless, I had already decided that a scholar’s life was not for me.”

“Neither is that of a monk,” quipped Devlin.

“I don’t pretend to be a saint.” Osborne regarded a group of young ladies fresh from the schoolroom who were waiting their turn at dancing. “Nor do you.” He flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “Though I daresay there isn’t much here to tempt a man to sin. Innocence is so terribly boring, don’t you think?”

Devlin didn’t answer right away. His gaze was on the arched entryway at the far end of the ballroom, where a quicksilver flutter of blonde and blue had just disappeared into one of the side salons.

“What a pity that a plump purse is so rarely attached to aught but a dewy-eyed virgin.”

“I wasn’t aware that you had to marry for money,” said Devlin absently. He shifted his stance, trying to find a better vantage point. Quite likely it was just a quirk of the swaying candlelight that had him imagining things.

“I don’t. Which is why I have no intention of riveting on a legshackle any time soon. Word is that you, however, are sinking fast in the River Tick and need a rich heiress to bail you out of your debts.”

“Perhaps,” said Devlin softly, “you have been listening in the wrong places.”

“I keep my ears open wherever I go,” replied Osborne. “And I find it curious…” He paused to watch a new set of dancers take their places for a cotillion. “Speaking of dewy-eyed virgins, the only one who has a glimmer of interest to her is Miss Anna Sloane.”

Damnation
, swore Devlin to himself, as the lady in question turned to face her partner, setting off a soft swirl of smoke-dark silk around her ankles—and sin-dark thoughts inside his head.

“And now that Wrexham has married her older sister, I imagine he will do the pretty and provide a handsome dowry.” Osborne’s mouth curled to a scimitar smile. “If so, I might reconsider my objections to matrimony to get her into my bed. My hunch is that beneath all the delicious beauty and demure smiles, there’s a tantalizing streak of wildness just waiting to be unleashed.”

A sudden surge of fury, all the more powerful for being so unexpected, welled up in Devlin’s chest. For an instant, the music and the rhythmic scuff of shoes on the polished parquet was overwhelmed by the thrumming rush of boiling blood reverberating in his ears.

If his newly purchased pocket pistol had been in his pocket, another hellfire scandal would likely have been branded on his name.

Gritting his teeth, he waited for the pounding of his pulse to subside before he looked around. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Oh? Have designs on the chit yourself?” A laugh. “I doubt the Perfect Hero would let either of us near her. Pistols at dawn, without a doubt. And no woman, however well dowered, is worth the trouble.”

Devlin repressed the urge to shove the supercilious sneer—and several pearly teeth—down the other man’s throat. “A wise philosophy. Especially when one is a notoriously lousy shot.”

Osborne arched a brow. “You seem to have swallowed your usual sense of humor tonight, along with the last of your wine.”

“Bilious stomach,” muttered Devlin. A strangely sour taste had left his throat feeling dry as dust.

“Drinking to excess tends to do that.”

“For a fellow who makes no claim to sainthood, you are doing a bloody awful lot of moralizing this evening.”

“Ye gods, you
are
in a touchy mood. My comments on excess have to do with curiosity, not morality.”

Devlin scowled a warning.

“I can’t help but wonder something,” went on Osborne. “As I said, I listen carefully when people talk, and from what I have gathered, your losses and winnings at the gaming hells are deceptively even. In fact, the winnings may hold a slight edge. Yet your debts are quite large. So it raises the question—on what are you spending your money?”

“If you’ll excuse me, my glass is empty.” Turning on his heel, Devlin walked off, ignoring the last murmured question that trailed in his wake.

“What secrets are you hiding, Davenport?”

H
ands lightly touching, Anna followed Lord Andover’s lead through the figures of the country dance.
Step-turn, step-turn.
She knew the movements by heart so there was little danger in letting her mind wander to more personal concerns.

Had it been a wise decision to agree to the journey north?
She was having second thoughts…

“So sorry—how clumsy of me,” murmured Andover as he steadied her stumble.

Anna jerked her gaze away from the figure moving in and out of the shadows cast by the decorative colonnade. “I appreciate your gallantry, sir, but the fault is all mine—as you well know,” she replied.

“You seem…distracted this evening,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” assured Anna, essaying a smile as the music came to an end. “I think I am just a trifle fatigued, is all.”

“The social swirl can be tiring,” agreed Andover, as he escorted her off the dance floor. “Miss Caro mentioned that you will soon be journeying to Scotland, and I have to confess that I’m rather jealous. An interlude of peace and quiet in the country sounds very inviting after the rigors of the Season.”

“The castle is surrounded by wild moors and rugged cliffs overlooking the North Sea, so unless you enjoy shooting birds or watching rain squalls darken the horizon, I daresay you might be bored to flinders.”

“And you? How will you keep yourself occupied in such a remote spot?” asked Andover.

“Books,” said Anna. “One can never be bored with books as company.”

The comment drew a chuckle in response. “I’ve never known a lady so passionate about reading.”

“Yes, well, there are those who love music or watercolors. I happen to find the printed word endlessly inspiring.” Anna fanned her face, using the cover of her kidskin-clad fingers to take another peek at the far end of the room.

The shadows showed no sign of life. Perhaps the Underworld specter was only a figment of her own overwrought imagination.

“I shall have to try to find you a novel that you haven’t read for the trip north,” said Andover lightly. “A daunting task.”

“You need not trouble yourself. I’ve plenty of reading material to keep me occupied,” Anna assured him.

“Miss Caro also tells me that a bevy of German nobles, including a prince, will be among the guests. So perhaps you will find romance outside the pages of a book,” he replied.

“Real-life romance is the last thing I am looking to find in Scotland,” said Anna. “Prince Charming will have to look elsewhere for a bride.” Spotting her sister conversing with a childhood friend behind a large decorative urn filled with tuber roses, she quickly added, “If you don’t mind, sir, I think I shall beg off from this next set and join my sister.”

Ever the gentleman, Andover was far too well mannered to protest. Taking his leave with a polite bow, he strolled off in the direction of the card room. A moment later, Caro’s friend was quickly claimed by her next partner, leaving the two sisters alone.

“Christabel thinks your new gown is shockingly lovely,” said Caro. “All the girls do. They are yearning to cast off their pale hues and wear more daring colors.”

“Perhaps, like Beau Brummel, you will become the arbiter of fashion,” added a masculine voice from somewhere close by. “The Sovereign of sarcenet and satin.”

Anna didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing just behind her left shoulder. She could swear a faint whiff of brimstone suddenly sharpened the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, Lord Davenport,” she said.

“So it is,” he murmured, moving in a half circle to face her. “Which is why I shall step in and join the conversation.” His eyes locked with hers for just a moment, before sliding down to make a long, leisurely inspection of her gown. “Unless, of course, you have any objection.”

Damnation.
She felt herself growing uncomfortably warm.
Damn, damn, damn.
Her rebellious body seemed intent on responding to the man, despite all orders to the contrary.

“Not at all,” answered Caro quickly. To Anna’s consternation, her sister had decided on their first encounter several months ago that the dark, disreputable marquess was “Exceedingly Interesting,” an accolade she bestowed on precious few gentlemen of the
ton
.

Poets, thought Anna wryly, were Exceeding Hard To Please.

“What do you think of Anna’s new gown, Lord Davenport?” added her sister.

“It is indeed daring,” he replied, after a prolonged pause. “That particular shade of blue makes an intriguing contrast to her fair coloring. One can’t help but notice the striking contrast between dark and light.”

A shiver of ice now joined the heat prickling over her flesh.

“I think it makes her look slightly dangerous, and so does our new French maid,” confided Caro. “Josette says a lady
should
be dangerous. Do you agree, sir?”

“That depends,” said Devlin.

“Caro…” began Anna, anxious to turn the talk to a safer subject.

“On what?” challenged her sister.

“On the lady.” His eyes were on her again, and Anna felt her body clench in response to the low laugh that rumbled in his throat. “That smoke-dark hue conjures up thoughts of midnight and all the many sins that are hidden by darkness…”

Anna did not want to think of sin, not when the word stirred vivid memories of how good his body had felt pressed up against hers.

“…So yes, I would agree with you that your sister looks slightly dangerous.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” she quickly pointed out.

“So can words be deceiving,” responded Devlin.

She felt her pulse start to skitter, and suddenly it was hard to breath. Surely he couldn’t suspect the truth.
Could he?
Lucifer and his legions were said to possess dark powers.

“So can gestures be deceiving,” he added. “So can kisses be deceiving.”

“Are you always so cynical about life, Lord Davenport?” asked Caro, sounding far more intrigued than a young lady should be by a thoroughly disreputable rogue.

“The answer is yes,” replied Anna. “Always.”

His lips quirked, and the memory of his wicked, wanton mouth on hers made her skin begin to tingle all over.

“Your sister knows me too well, Miss Caro.”

“On the contrary,” protested Anna. “I know you not at all, sir.”

“A more accurate statement would be that you know me better than you think.”

A frightening thought.

“However, in the spirit of furthering the acquaintance, might I request the next dance?” asked Devlin abruptly.

Taken by surprise, Anna stammered, “I—I am fatigued, sir.”

A glint of unholy amusement seemed to light in his eyes. “I promise to move very slowly. As you know, I am loath to exert myself any more than necessary.”

Caro stifled an unladylike chortle. “That’s not what is whispered in all the drawing rooms, sir.”

“It’s dangerous to listen to idle speculation, Miss Caro.” Devlin held out his hand to Anna. “Well?

“But you
never
dance at these parties,” she said.

“Aren’t you just a little curious as to why I wish to do so now?”

“No,” lied Anna. Against all reason, the desire to feel his touch again impelled her to add, “But to avoid drawing unwanted attention, I shall accede to your request. People are already staring.”

“Let them,” drawled Devlin, as he led her to the far corner of the ballroom floor. “Do you really give a fig for what bumbleheaded idiots think of your actions?”

“Ladies are not as free as you gentlemen are to thumb their noses at Society,” she answered obliquely. “The rules are far stricter.”

“Don’t the rules ever chafe, like the whalebone stays of a corset that’s been laced too tightly?”

Anna avoided the uncomfortable question by snapping back with a tart retort. “Somehow I doubt you have much experience with too-tight corsets, Lord Davenport. Unlike the Prince Regent, you have no need yet to wear such an intimate garment to enhance your manly figure.”

A silent laugh, warm and wicked, teased against her cheek. “True. But I have unlaced enough wasp-waisted women to know that they must be deucedly uncomfortable.”

Drat the rapscallion rogue—he was impossibly awful.
Anna looked away to a distant spot over his left shoulder, hoping a telltale flush of color was not betraying the terrible tickle of heat that suddenly flared inside her.
And impossibly intriguing.
The thought of his long tapered fingers unknotting her undergarment stirred a strange shiver. What a pity she could not ask him for a detailed description of the process. It would be quite useful in writing Count Alessandro’s next seduction scene.

“Forgive me, am I boring you?” inquired Devlin, as the musicians struck up the first lilting notes of the new dance.

It was a waltz, Anna realized belatedly.

“Your thoughts seem to be wandering,” he added.

“I…” His palm pressed lightly on the small of her back, drawing her close, and all of a sudden, the rest of her words seemed to trip away.

Strangely enough, the floor was behaving oddly as well. The parquet took on a tiny tilt, pitching her off-balance.

“Too much champagne, Miss Sloane?” Devlin’s voice held a hint of amusement.

“As I said, I’m tired, sir, and not much in the mood for dancing.” The first twirling steps left her feeling even more lightheaded. “So perhaps you could stop spinning in circles and simply get to the point of why you have dragged me out here.”

“Ah, and here I thought my technique was not quite so clumsy.”

In truth, he was an excellent dancer, lithe and light on his feet. For someone who claimed to be an indolent idler, he had a panther-like grace, an impression sharpened by the rippling of muscle beneath the tailored black wool of his evening attire.

“If you are fishing for flattery, cast your lures elsewhere, sir.” Anna tried to sound stern, but there was, she admitted to herself, something exhilarating about crossing verbal swords with the marquess. Yes, his clever, caustic tongue could cut like a rapier, but the fact that he expected her to be able to defend herself with equal skill was in itself a great compliment. It added an unexpected edge to their thrusts and parries.

And interestingly enough, their recent clashes had given a hint of hidden steel beneath his devil-may-care…

“You wound me, Miss Sloane,” murmured Devlin, once they had spun by a pair of other couples.

“I doubt that I’ve drawn blood. And if I have, it could only be a pinprick to your vanity.”

He laughed in a low, intimate way that stirred thoughts of rumpled sheets and musky perfume. “If I were a puffed-up popinjay, the injury might be mortal. However, as I can readily laugh at my own foibles, as well as those of others, I don’t think I can be accused of taking myself too seriously.”

“I grant you that, Lord Davenport. Your faults may be legion, but overweening conceit is not one of them.”

“Ye gods, praise from you? I think I may need smelling salts to keep me from falling into a swoon.”

“I have a feeling that very little in this world could render such a shock to your sensibilities, sir.”

Another laugh—which sent another frisson of heat tingling through her body.

“By the by, it wasn’t praise,” Anna added softly, telling herself that it was too dangerous to play with fire. No matter how pleasantly seductive the sensation was now, she would only end up getting burned. “It was merely an observation.”

They danced through a slow turn in silence before Devlin replied, “I, too, have made an observation, which brings us in a roundabout way to what I wished to discuss with you.”

“At last,” she responded, “we stop spinning in circles.”

“Indeed, the dance is almost at an end.” His hand tightened on hers as the tempo of the music quickened into its crescendo. “My apologies again if I have subjected you to a tedious interlude.”

It hadn’t been tedious, it had been…tempting.

Too tempting.

“You had better get to the point, sir, before it’s time for us to part company.”

“Very well.” And yet, he hesitated as their bodies whirled in perfect harmony with the lilting rhythm of the waltz.

For a moment Anna felt as if she was dancing on air.

“Is there a reason you were making a sketch of the pocket pistol in Manton’s display window?”

The question brought her girlish reverie thudding back down to earth.
Thud, thud, thud.
Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.

“Your eyes must have been deceiving you, sir.”

“On the contrary, I have excellent vision.” His steps skimmed smoothly over the parquet. “So I would say that the deception must lie elsewhere.”

Anna swallowed hard, unsure of how to reply.

Damn the man—he must have a basilisk gaze to go along with his Lucifer smile.

“You’re a bad liar, Miss Sloane,” he whispered. “The question is why.”

“W-why…” she repeated, trying to gather her wits. “W-why…why is it any business of yours what I put in my private notebook?”

“It isn’t,” replied Devlin calmly. “However, given the oddity of young lady being so intrigued with a firearm, it occurred to me that you might feel yourself in some imminent danger.”

Ha! The only imminent danger was to her peace of mind. And for that, bullets and gunpowder would provide precious little protection.

“Are you?” he pressed.

Anna hitched in a breath as the violins finished their last notes with a flourish and the music came to an end. Laughter rose from the crowd milling near the punch table, the gaiety punctuated by the sharp-edged clink of crystal.

The urge to echo their amusement rose up in her throat. Lud, the evening was fast descending from drama to farce. The only thing more absurd than the notion that she might be threatened by some unknown enemy was the idea that Lord Davenport might feel honorbound to offer aid to a damsel in distress.

“No,” she answered.

The surrounding couples were beginning to drift away from the dance floor in a muted rustle of silk and well-tailored wool. Looking up through her lashes, she saw that Devlin had fixed her with an inscrutable stare.