The Sinner (18 page)

He lifted her into his arms. Another kiss, a ravishment, demonstrated his hunger and called her own forth. The heat of his passion almost made the roots of the fear wither and die, but she knew it survived in her. Even as she responded, while her body flushed and her breasts got full and sensitive, she knew that even Dante Duclairc could never conquer what lived in her.

He embraced her, pressing kisses to her shoulder and neck as his hands caressed her through the silk. “The door stays unlocked, Fleur, and we will share a bed.”

“No. You promised—”

“I am not going to force you, but I never promised that I would not try to overcome whatever it is that makes you deny me.”

“It cannot be overcome.”

“I’ll be damned before I accept that.”

He kissed her furiously, giving expression to the angry determination of his declaration. With one hand sprawled possessively across her bottom, he arched her body against his and caressed up with the other until he cupped her breast.

Wonderful sensations streaked down her body, and the pulsing warmth grew. The excitement he so masterfully created almost overwhelmed her. For a brief while, as he stroked her nipple through the thin silk, she pretended they were behind that Durham hedge and this pleasure would be limited and benign.

He stopped kissing her, but his fingers still made titillating patterns on her breast. She opened her eyes and saw him watching how she reacted.

The sensual severity of his expression frightened her. The realities of the night assaulted her. They were not behind a hedge. They were in his chamber, and he would not stop this time.

The hated fear rose with a relentless wave. He must have seen it, because he kissed her again, as if the force of his passion could stop the tide.

It almost did. A blaze passed from him to her, burning away her sense of everything but intimacy and pleasure.

His embracing arm pulled her closer until she lined his body completely. He moved her toward the bed. “You will sleep here with me tonight. I want you in my arms.”

Not only in his arms. She could not lie to herself about that. With each step the fear grew, threatening to deaden her.

She wanted desperately to believe he could win this battle for her. The poignant memory of sleeping with him in Newcastle made her throat thicken with tears. But if she got in this bed, it would not be like that. It would be horrible and humiliating. Even if he stopped it would be dreadful, and if he didn’t—a little whirlwind of panic spiraled up her body, into her head. Images of blood and soundless screams flashed through her mind.

Already her nature was having its way, killing the pleasure and the joy, making her so miserable she thought she could never be happy again.

She pressed her hands against his chest. “Please, do not,” she whispered, trying to hide how terrified she had become.

“I said I will not force you. There is no reason to be afraid.”

There was every reason to be afraid. This was not Dante the kind friend, offering chaste intimacy. It was Dante the man, a prince of sensuality, wanting her more than was safe.

She pushed harder, until he released her. “I do not want this.”

“Yes, Fleur, you do.”

She turned and ran to the door. “Something in me does not, Dante, and even you cannot defeat it.”

chapter
18

D
ante was already in the breakfast room the next morning when she went down. She wondered if that meant he had slept as poorly as she had.

For the next half hour she sipped coffee while he read his paper and mail. The room seemed filled with last night’s events. The silence became a continuation of them.

She caught him looking at her once. His gaze communicated no contrition. No backing down. He had made a decision about this marriage, and her flight last night had not changed his mind.

He had taken the key, so she could not lock the door now. She expected that some night he would walk through those dressing rooms to try and seduce her.

That was hopeless. She wished it was not, but it was.

Williams announced that Dante’s sister had come to call. Charlotte entered the breakfast room, full of apologies for the early hour.

“If you have come to upbraid me further, there is no need,” Dante said. “I have explained to Fleur that the baroness is not my current lover.”

The bold announcement left Charl chagrined. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh,” Dante repeated pointedly. He rose. “Since you ladies will want to discuss the ball in tedious detail, I will retreat.” He did so before Charlotte could say another word.

Charlotte took Fleur’s hand. “I hope there was no row when he got home. He appeared angry when he left the ball, and I feared there might be one.”

“He was understandably displeased, especially since he says she is not his current lover.” Fleur had not missed the wording of his statement. It left open the real possibility that some other woman
was
his current lover.

“Your misunderstanding was excusable. Any woman would have reached the same conclusion.”

Not any woman. Not one who trusted her husband to be faithful, the way Charlotte had trusted Mardenford and the way, Fleur suspected, Diane trusted St. John.

Not a woman who joined her husband in passion instead of demanding he find it elsewhere.

Not a woman who accepted the intimacy he wanted instead of running from the room.

“It is good to see you in good spirits, because I think Dante will want to make a short journey with you soon. If he had not left so abruptly, I would have given him the news forthwith.”

“A journey to where?”

“Sussex.” Charl plucked a letter out of her reticule and waved it. “It came this morning from Laclere Park. Vergil and Bianca have returned from Naples.”

Fleur’s stomach jumped, then landed with a sickening plop. “How wonderful.”

“Penelope decided to stay in Naples. Vergil reassures me that she is back in good health and that he will explain everything when he sees us.”

“Does he indicate that he knows about our marriage?” Fleur asked feebly.

“He says nothing specifically, although I expect that the servants have told him. Dante will probably want to go down soon, unless that will inconvenience any plans that you have.”

Fleur wished she had a diary full of important plans that could not be inconvenienced by a visit to Sussex. Weeks of them.

The last day had tilted her world in ways she did not understand yet. If she had to face Laclere, that world might turn upside down.

The rambling neo-medieval manor house came into view, then grew in size as the carriage rolled up its approaching lane. Two boys played out front, throwing pebbles up against the house, seeing how high they could make the missiles land.

The sound of the coach distracted them. The younger one, who looked to be about four, jumped up and down, waving his arms.

“Someone is excited by your visit,” Fleur said.

“That is Edmund,” Dante said. “The elder is Milton. The little one adores me, although I don’t understand why.”

“Perhaps he knows you are not the type to scold him for throwing stones at the house.”

Both boys crowded the coach door as soon as they stopped. Dante had trouble getting out. Edmund tugged on his coat, squealing an endless sentence about big ships and a new pony and his hateful tutor and some secret spot near the lake where he had seen a little snake yesterday.

Dante took the child’s face in his hands and bent to calm him. “We will see the pony soon, and this afternoon we will go looking for more snakes. Right now, however, there is a lady who cannot descend from the carriage. Make room, and welcome her like the young gentleman you are.”

Milton offered his hand to help her down. Unlike Edmund, who was fair-haired, Milton had the dark hair and blue eyes of his father, the viscount. “Welcome, Auntie. We are not supposed to know that Uncle married yet, but I overheard the butler giving Papa the news.”

“Married?”
Edmund looked up at Dante in horror. “Tell Milton he is wrong.”

Dante placed his hand on the child’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Remember, like a gentleman, Edmund.”

Face folding into an expression of heartbreak, Edmund made a little bow. “We are joyed to meet you.”

Fleur bent down to the distraught little man. “And I am joyed to meet you, Edmund.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Mr. Duclairc made me promise not to interfere with important manly affairs like ponies and snakes, so I doubt you will find me much bother.”

His relief bloomed and his smile returned. “Oh,
well
, then,
welcome
.”

“Yes, welcome,” a very adult voice said.

Fleur looked up into the piercing blue eyes of the Viscount Laclere.

His wife, Bianca, stood beside him, wearing a big smile. As two girls skipped down the steps to join their brothers and the greetings flew, Bianca embraced Fleur. “The news was a wonderful surprise. We are so pleased that Dante has found happiness.”

Fleur played her role as best she could. She was grateful for the confusion of children and baggage, however. Laclere and Dante managed a few quiet words together. Since both laughed, it did not appear that the visit would be
too
uncomfortable.

“Come,” Bianca said. “I will take you to your chamber. I was going to put you together, but Vergil scolded that you should each have your own.”

Fleur glanced over to where Laclere was lifting Edmund down from where he had climbed up next to Luke.

Bianca did not know the truth, it appeared. Laclere, however, had reached his own conclusions.

Two horses cavorted on the field. Milton rode the new pony. Dante rode a gelding, with Edmund on the saddle in front of him.

Fleur watched from the terrace of the house. Even from a distance she could see the fun all three boys were having.

“My wife will permit the child on a horse with no one but Dante, me, or herself. Of the three of us, I worry least when he is with my brother.”

Fleur startled and turned. Laclere stood a few feet away, watching the joyful play as well.

She glanced around anxiously, but Bianca was not present. The two of them were alone.

“They appear to love him very much,” she said.

“He is the perfect uncle, willing to plot with them against us. Every boy should have an uncle like him.” He stepped forward, until he stood beside her. “He loves them too, and can still take pleasure in their games. If ever a man had the temperament to be a father, it is Dante.”

She swallowed hard and kept her gaze on the horses. Dante had arranged a little race and was in the process of letting Milton and the pony win.

“He is my brother, Fleur. My
brother.
”

She closed her eyes at his tone. He was not making any allusions to her past with Laclere himself or to any unseemliness in this marriage on that count. He was dismayed that she had not considered their old friendship before luring Dante into the marriage and that she had not spared Dante out of respect for that friendship.

“I am correct, am I not? That you offered him a marriage such as you once offered me?”

“I was very honest. I did not play him false. He knew what the arrangement would be when he made his choice.”

“He was up to his nose in debt and you threw him a line. It does not sound like much of a choice to me.”

“He had other choices, didn’t he? He could have relied on friends. He could have turned to you once more. He preferred not to. He knew what he gained and what he lost in this marriage.”

“He has no idea what he lost, because it is something he never had, and therefore he could not comprehend its value.” He gestured to his sons and brother. “However, he is of an age when he will begin to think about it soon. No children. No intimacy with a woman he loves and wants to hold forever. He is condemned to live the rest of his life as he has so far, with passing passions and no center to his life. A young blood forever.”

She had to look away from those horses. She focused on some blades of grass just below the terrace. She wanted to tell Laclere he was wrong, that Dante did not care about such things. Only she wondered if he did, and if he had already begun to resent that he had given them up.

“I have been dreading your return,” she said. “I knew you would disapprove and blame me for using him badly.”

Laclere’s hand covered hers on the stone railing of the terrace. “I do not blame you. I apologize if it sounds that way. I am only concerned for his happiness, and yours.”

She welcomed his touch. Until Dante, it had been the only masculine one she could bear. Chaste and caring, it had always been an expression of deep friendship and trust.

She had thought she could have the same friendship with Dante. Only Dante affected her as Laclere never had. As no man had. Now that was leading them to misery.

“Did you explain it all to him, Fleur? I expect it would help if he understood the reasons.”

She finally looked at him. His harshly handsome face showed acceptance and concern, not anger. He was Dante’s elder by only two years, but he had always been the big brother of the family, even when the firstborn was alive and held the title. Responsibilities had seasoned him at a very young age, and if Bianca had not entered his life and turned it upside down, he may have grown old before his time.

“Of course I explained. He understands it is my nature to be thus, and that it is not my choice.”

“I meant, have you explained why it is your nature?”

“There is no why to it, Laclere. I was born this way.”

He cocked his head and studied her as if she had said something curious.

“Yes, I expect it is not something you would want to contemplate much,” he said. “Let us go and find Bianca. She is very anxious to get the details of this elopement from you. She finds it very romantic.”

“Then she does not know the whole story, I assume.”

“No, Fleur. Only three of us will ever know that.”

Dante knew that sooner or later he and Vergil would have to have a man-to-man. That was what he called the often furious private conversations that they periodically held. Normally Vergil would be at wits end over Dante’s debts and bad behavior. Dante had come to view those meetings as the cost of being the viscount’s brother, and the price of the allowance that kept him in acceptable style.

This man-to-man, however, was going to be different.

Therefore, he chose to avoid it.

He had other business in the county, and in the afternoon he took a horse from the stable and set out through the park. His ride brought him to a hill that bordered the estate and looked down on a large neighboring house.

He rode toward it through fields that looked well farmed, and noticed a couple of cottages that had been built since the last time he saw this property.

The butler took his card, then returned to lead him to the library. A blond-haired man in his mid-thirties was buttoning his frock coat as they entered.

“Duclairc,” he said. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Dante greeted Nigel Kenwood. Kenwood was Bianca’s cousin and the second baronet of Woodleigh, the title that Bianca’s grandfather had been granted by the Crown.

“My congratulations on your marriage. My sincere hopes that you overcome Farthingstone’s challenge to it,” Kenwood said. He sat in a handsome chair near a pianoforte. Kenwood could play the instrument very well. Dante expected that music gave him great comfort while he lived in obscurity, land poor in ways that prevented other luxuries.

“Despite your exile from town, you heard about that,” Dante said.

“One hears everything if one wants to.”

“It is some people’s ability to do so that I hoped to discuss with you today.”

Kenwood made a display of checking how the closure of his frock coat lined up on his chest. He had always been an elegant man, much enamored of fashion.

“I should have guessed this was not a social call, Duclairc.”

“Hardly that.”

“Hell, it was years ago. Laclere receives me. You should let it all be buried too.”

“At the moment I cannot. I need to know something.”

With a deep sigh of resignation, Kenwood lazily flipped his hand. “Go ahead, then.”

“That little blackmailing scheme you had ten years ago. Were there others involved who escaped detection?”