The Most Wicked Of Sins (11 page)

“Of course, you have met Siusan.” Ivy gestured to her sable-haired sister, who stepped forward and extended her hand to him to kiss. “Her sin, because you should know, is sloth.” Ivy lifted her eyebrows and her chin and peered down her nose at her sister, who had now raised her other hand for him to kiss too. “We just refer to her as lazy Siusan.”

Siusan flashed a glare Ivy’s way, then lowered her hand and stepped back. She pushed Grant forward. “And, you also know Grant,” she said taking charge. She smiled wickedly back at Ivy.

“My sin is gluttony,” Grant admitted, “but I prefer to being known as a connoisseur of the finer things in life.” He put his hand on one of his brother’s shoulders. “You’ve met Lachlan, who endeavors to become the most notorious rake in all of London.”

Lachlan grinned and shook Nick’s hand. “Lord Lust, at your service, Counterton.”

Ivy shook her head disgustedly at her brother before moving along with her rushed and informal introductions. She caught the arm of the young woman whose features most resembled her own, though her hair was ebony black and her eyes blue as a clear summer sky. Her vibrant coloring was simply stunning. “This is Priscilla.”

Priscilla pulled away from Ivy and approached Nick for a closer look. “Such beautiful children we could have, Lord Counterton. So, so beautiful.” The dark slash of her left eyebrow lifted for an instant before she spun around to her sister and spoke to her as though Nick wasn’t even there. “May I have him when you’re through, Ivy? I vow I have never seen a man so handsome. Imagine the two of us together. Beautiful.”

“Her sin is pride,” Ivy interjected. “I know,” she added with a prick of sarcasm in her voice, “surprising, eh? Had I not told you, I wager you would never have guessed.”

A huge young man, with hair as dark as a raven’s wing extended his hand. “I am Killian, Priscilla’s twin.”

Then Ivy leaned her mouth to Nick’s ear. “Word over scandal broth is that he killed a man for simply showing disrespect to Priscilla. But I shouldn’t believe it were I you. His sin is wrath, but more for his talent in inspiring the sin in others than embodying it himself.

“Whom have I missed?” Ivy spun around in a circle. “Oh, Sterling. He is the eldest and is visiting our father in Scotland. You might have heard about the largest wager in White’s history earlier this Season? My brother arranged an anonymous bet that he would marry Miss Isobel Carington before the end of the season—that was after she publicly spurned him, no less. His sin is greed…or rather
was.
According to our father, he has reformed. And, I suppose it’s true, because he and Isobel are now married.” She clapped her hands together. “So, there you have it. Do you have any questions before we enter the saloon to steal Tinsdale back from Miss Feeney?”

He really only did have just one question. “What is your sin, Lady Ivy?”

A scarlet poppy suddenly bloomed on each of her cheeks.

“Oh that.” She glanced at her sisters, as if waiting for one of them to reply for her, but when neither did, she raised her golden green eyes and without the least bit of shame told him.
“Envy.”

Even before they entered the Saloon Theatre, Nick’s ears were buzzing with the chatter and laughter of the crowd. Lady Ivy had certainly been correct about the rains driving Londoners back into the city like cattle home from the pasture.

With Ivy on his arm, he followed the other Sinclairs into the massive saloon. Within a blink, a ripple of silence swept from where they emerged through the entire assembly.

Lady Siusan leaned close and, being nearly as tall as Nick, whispered into his ear. “Do not take their reaction personally, my dear lord. This is quite usual behavior whenever the Sinclairs appear anywhere
en masse.”

“Conversation will begin again once they’ve had a chance to gawk,” Priscilla added, as she blatantly tried to press between Siusan and Nick. “Why, you would think we were carnival novelties with snakeskin, a third arm, or inappropriate female facial hair by the way they stare, wouldn’t you?”

“Your family is a sight to behold,” Nick told them. “Were I not standing amongst you, I, myself, would have stopped and stared at such a stunningly beautiful group.”

He did not know if he was imagining that the crowd seemed to be staring at Ivy particularly, or if, like him, they simply could not take their eyes from such a beguiling creature.

It might have been her gown, a celestial blue crape frock over white satin, embroidered with shaded blue silks. Or perhaps the vibrancy of her golden copper hair, prettily accented with tiny blue and ivory flowers. It might even have been the way a small necklace of pearls drew his eyes to the long pale column of her throat.

Yes, it could have been any of these things that inspired his admiration for her.

As he stared at her, though, he knew the truth of the answer. Just as anyone who might have observed him as he looked at her.

It was not admiration he was feeling for Ivy. It was an attraction so much deeper than that. The realization was startling, and he tugged at his neckcloth, which suddenly felt too tight.

“Ivy, I am the eldest sister,” Siusan suddenly said in a hushed voice, “so Dominic should be mine, not Priscilla’s when…his work is finished.” She chuckled then, but by the way Ivy glared back at her, Nick wasn’t completely sure that she believed her sister’s statement was simply in jest.

“Well, I, for one, have had enough of this rude staring.” Lord Grant broke from the Sinclair column and strode purposefully across the marble floor. He signaled up to the orchestra’s conductor, who stood before the musicians on a wirework dais.

Though it was impossible to hear what the huge Scot said to the man, the conductor seemed almost to shudder, and he hurriedly raised his baton. The musicians lifted their instruments, and before Grant had even managed to return to the Sinclair fold, a flurry of notes filled the air.

The Sinclair clan divided themselves into two groups and moved off toward opposite ends of the grand saloon.

Ivy, clutching Nick’s arm, didn’t move. Instead, her eyes flashed this way and that, searching for someone.

He didn’t need to ask whom.

But even had he thought to, it would not have been necessary because suddenly she tugged excitedly on his arm and trotted in place like a nervous filly. “There they are—Tinsdale and Miss Feeney. Do you see them near the screen of columns?”

“You really must possess extraordinary eyesight, Lady Ivy.” Nick looked up toward the ceiling painted like an afternoon sky and counted six balloon-cut chandeliers, each supporting twelve candles. “I fear I cannot see more than five yards ahead.”

“What, no spectacles?” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Then I will bring you closer, my dear old man.”

“I’ll have you know I am only thirty years of age.”

Ivy snapped her head around and grinned up at him.
“Really?
Thirty is the ideal age for a man to marry.” She stopped walking. “You will mention your age to Miss Feeney, won’t you? Maybe twice. Aye, at least twice. I think your age is just one more factor to recommend you.” She laughed softly. “As if you needed anything more to increase your perfection.”

With a slight tug, Ivy urged Nick to the center of the floor. Instinctively, he turned her into place.

Ivy’s pink lips parted, and she smiled at him like a proud mother. “Very good, Dominic. You begin very well. Very well, indeed.”

He opened his mouth to reply, to tell her that he was not a stable boy, and one country dance is not so different from another (he’d omit the bit about a Scottish reel being one of the three dances he knew passing well), but suddenly an ebony-haired goddess in the arms of a narrow-nosed, pale-haired gentleman came into view beside them. There was little question in his mind that the couple was none other than Miss Fiona Feeney and Viscount Tinsdale.

Ivy tensed as the steps of the dance drew them even closer to the pair. Nick ran his fingers over the back of her hand, hoping to soothe her. But her gaze nervously bounced again and again in the direction of Tinsdale and Miss Feeney.

“Do not dare to look at them, Ivy,” he whispered to her as they crossed. “Focus on me. Look into my eyes.”

She did as he asked and lifted her head upward so that her golden green eyes met his dark blue ones. He held her gaze captive.

“You are so beautiful,” he said softly. “No woman in this room can compare.”

He heard her breath catch in her throat, and her eyes glistened suddenly. She shook her head the smallest amount and gazed downward just as the last notes of the reel played out.

Within moments of being in the proximity of Miss Feeney and Lord Tinsdale, Ivy’s supreme confidence had flagged and faded away into nothingness.

Settling his fingers under her chin, he made her look up at him. “I swear to you, I am telling you the truth. No other woman can compare to you, Ivy.”

She blinked up at him, traces of moisture lighting up her lashes in the light of the chandeliers.

He leaned his face close to hers so she, and no one else, could hear him. His lips paused a finger’s width from hers. “Believe me, for it is true.”

Ivy stared back at him, wordless. And he knew she did believe him, even if only just a little.

The other couple moved beside them just then. “Lady Ivy, I was not aware you were to attend the ball this night.” Miss Feeney spread her lips and smiled brightly. A little too enthusiastically. She wrapped her arm around Tinsdale’s and pulled herself a little closer than propriety would dictate at a public event. “Did you know she would be here, Sweeting?”

Before Tinsdale could answer, Nick caringly brushed a lock of Ivy’s red hair from her face and spoke. “I do not doubt that you were surprised. Who would have guessed that of all of the invitations, Lady Ivy would have chosen
this
event.” He seared Miss Feeney with his most seductive of gazes, paying absolutely no mind to Lord Tinsdale. “But I confess, it is my doing. I wanted to dance with her, so what is a man to do but beg this beautiful lady to condescend to attend the ball?”

He felt Ivy straightening her back and coming to her full height beside him. She gazed up at him and feigned a missish giggle.

“How could I refuse an invitation that would put me in the arms of such a handsome gentleman?” She peered up into his eyes, blinking, and sighed sweetly.

Nick nudged her. “My dear…”

“Oh, do forgive me, Miss Feeney, Lord Tinsdale,” Ivy said abruptly, “but when we are together I sometimes forget others are even in the room.” She summoned her brother Grant, who did the honors of presenting Miss Feeney and Lord Tinsdale to the esteemed Marquess of Counterton.

“Lord Counterton,” Grant said, “Miss Fiona Feeney of…oh, someplace in Ireland isn’t that right, Miss Feeney? And of course, my sister’s dear acquaintance, Viscount Tinsdale. Miss Feeney, Lord Tinsdale, Dominic Sheridan, the new Marquess of Counterton.” He bowed slightly to Counterton, which Nick thought a bit too much on his part, but the gesture seemed to catch Miss Feeney’s notice.

Her eyes widened, and it was not until Lord Tinsdale nudged her that she even attempted to rein in her awe.

Ivy, too, was doing her best to restrain her emotions. Her glee at seeing Miss Feeney take the bait was clear.

Nick reluctantly released Ivy’s arm, caught up Miss Feeney’s gloved hand, and slowly raised it to his mouth. He prolonged the delivery of the smallest kiss, holding her hand just below his lips for some seconds. Miss Feeney’s breathing became faster, her breasts visibly straining with each inhalation against her daring neckline.

Nick knew he had snared her interest. His uncle had told him he’d been born with that talent, just as his father had been. And it was a skill he’d made use of too many times to count, with too many women of no importance in his life.

He ran his fingers lightly over the underside of her wrist, feeling her pulse become more rapid, as he transfixed her with a smoldering gaze that promised everything. Then, at last, Nick touched his lips to her glove and kissed it.

Miss Feeney audibly sighed as Nick straightened. He turned and offered a gracious nod to Lord Tinsdale as he stepped back beside Ivy. “My lord.”

Miss Feeney dropped her hold on Tinsdale’s arm and stepped toward Nick, opening her mouth as if beginning to say something. Just then, the music recommenced.

“I beg your pardon,” Nick interjected before turning to look at Ivy, “but you did promise me another dance, and I intend to hold you to your word.” He cupped her hand in both of his, and she laughed a little embarrassedly.

“So I did.” Ivy looked at Tinsdale. “Do forgive us for not staying to converse longer, but I did promise…and I find it exceedingly difficult to refuse Dominic—Lord Counterton—anything.”

Miss Feeney and Lord Tinsdale stood at the perimeter and stared at them. As did at least half of the assembly, a number that was growing by the moment.

Nick supposed it could have been nothing more than the Sinclair effect. Until, that is, he noticed that the Sinclair brothers and sisters were intently watching them as well.

And then he wondered whether he was completely obvious. If everyone could see what Ivy could not.

That he was already smitten with her.

Dominic looked up from the program, his eyes bright and excited. “A waltz. Do you know it, Lady Ivy?” He enthusiastically offered her his arm before she could reply.

“Indeed I do.” Dancers were already scurrying to claim their positions upon the floor. “Do you waltz? Truly?”

Dominic raised his eyebrows and smiled at her.

“Well, then, let us dance.” She took his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her into place. Such a brilliant choice he was to portray the Marquess of Counterton. Why, the waltz had just been deemed proper, having been danced in court only days ago and already he had mastered the steps.

Or it seemed for a brief instant.

While Ivy had no doubts about his prowess with the ladies, with the first steps (he leaped then hopped before returning to close) Ivy had her doubts about his abilities in the dance line. She held tight and used all her muscle to get him off, but the other dancers were already moving.