A Little Bit Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  Kiss her. The voice in his head shouted at him, but he found himself strangely reluctant to listen. It would be so easy to lean down and press his lips against hers. She would not resist, nay she appeared curious, eager for his embrace.

  Yet the idea of pressing his attention on her caused a tightness in his chest that made no sense. He had been seducing women since his voice had deepened, but something about kissing this sweet girl left him feeling like a lecher. For all his experience, he had never been a man who was comfortable toying with a woman’s emotions, especially a girl as young and innocent as Bianca.

  She was beautiful, yet he felt no desire for her. He was uncertain whether it was her age, or her innocence, or perhaps even her connection to the infamous Earl of Hetfield that brought on this feeling. Yet whatever the cause, the result was clear—he could not go through with it.

  Abruptly he pulled away. This he had not expected. Turmoil raged in Sebastian’s chest. For a long moment he stared out into the darkened garden, one hand resting on his hip, the other rubbing the pain that had formed at the base of his neck.

  A torrent of emotion surged through Sebastian. Anger, frustration, disappointment. He had set the course for the perfect plan of revenge but now found it impossible to follow the track.

  He could hear Bianca’s rapid breathing, could sense her confusion, but it was nothing compared to the anger he was feeling. For a moment he held his breath, wishing he had never started this crazy scheme, more angry than he could fathom upon discovering he was unable to complete it.

  “We should go inside, before we are missed,” he said flatly.

  She blinked her eyes in confusion. “Already?”

  Sebastian uttered a curse beneath his breath and lowered his head to meet her gaze. He hadn’t anticipated such a stricken look. Hell, he wasn’t all that impressive a man. Still, a female as young and gullible as Bianca was bound to find him attractive.

  “‘Tis most improper for us to stay out here unchaperoned for so long,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. “I’m sure your sister will be distressed by your absence.”

  Her cheeks brightened to a deep red, visible even in the moonlight, so strong he could practically feel the heat of her blush. “We haven’t been gone that long,” she replied tightly.

  “Long enough.” He drew himself up to his full height, clicking his heels. Hesitating only a moment, Sebastian stiffly held out his arm. She glanced down at it, then glanced away. She didn’t move. “Are you coming, Lady Bianca? Or do you prefer to enjoy the night air in solitude?”

  A peculiar look crossed her features. Sebastian wondered briefly if she was going to display a fit of temper and he almost wished for it, as it would give him a chance to vent his own frustration. But ever the lady, Bianca wordlessly rose from the bench, the only sign of her annoyance her refusal to take his arm.

  Silently, Sebastian grabbed her elbow and guided her back toward the house, moving at such a rapid pace he was practically dragging her. They had crossed the terrace when suddenly he heard Bianca gasp. He glanced up and saw her sister framed in the doorway.

  “Lady Eleanor!” Sebastian exclaimed. “Hellfire, you gave me a fright.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I apologize if my appearance is so alarming, my lord.”

  Sebastian stiffened his spine and forced a smile. “I was not alarmed, ma’am, merely startled.”

  She let out a sigh. “I was wondering what happened to Bianca.”

  “I was walking with the viscount, Eleanor.” Lady Bianca lowered her lashes as another blush of pink crept along her cheeks. “But the chill of the damp air brought us back.”

  “Lady Dorothea was just starting to serve tea,” Lady Eleanor said. “I’m sure a cup will warm you.”

  The words had barely fallen from her sister’s lips before Lady Bianca lifted the hem of her skirt and scurried inside. Sebastian expected Lady Eleanor to follow her sister, but instead she remained on the terrace.

  Not wanting his hackles to rise any further, Sebastian took himself off to a corner of the terrace. Better to be rude than boorish. Removing a thin silver case from his pocket, he extracted a cheroot and placed it between his teeth. Rooting through his other pockets, he located his flint box, then lit the end.

  Coaxing the cheroot to life, Sebastian pulled in a lungful of tobacco, then slowly exhaled. The sight of the curling gray smoke calmed his nerves, as did the sound of the trickling water from the nearby fountain. It was a monstrous piece, designed by an overeager, romantic young sculptor Lady Dorothea had taken pity upon. Atwood had vowed to take a hammer to it as soon as his wife took an interest in another artist. Sebastian thought that a wise move.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I will rejoin the—”

  Lady Eleanor’s face contorted into surprise as her voice fell silent.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s a fountain,” she remarked stupidly.

  “Indeed.” His brows knit together in puzzlement and then he barked out a short laugh. “I must assume by your expression that your dinner companion, Mr. Dawson, has been telling tales out of school. Do you expect me to begin pulling off my clothing and splashing inside it?”

  She drew in a shuddering breath. “I admit to never knowing what to expect from you, Lord Benton.”

  “Ah, you wound me, Lady Eleanor. Clearly you were not paying close attention to the tales. I have jumped into many a fountain, yet I am always deep in my cups at the time of my swim.”

  “And that makes everything all right?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose it hardly makes it acceptable.” He blew out another puff of smoke and waited for her lecture.

  Her shoulders started moving and it took him a moment to realize she was not going to scold. Instead, she was trying to hold back her laughter. “You must be a sight to behold. Mr. Dawson said one time you dove onto your coat as it floated on the surface, then came up spewing water after you sank to the bottom,” she said before breaking into a deep, throaty giggle.

  At the sound, every sense inside him sharpened. The vaguely sickening feeling that churned in his stomach each time he contemplated kissing Bianca abruptly disappeared. For whatever reason, Sebastian admitted he could not bring himself to engage in a dalliance with Bianca and thus gain his revenge against the Earl of Hetfield.

  But Lady Eleanor was another matter entirely.

  For the briefest instant Eleanor’s breath seized. Lord Benton’s gaze was distinctly unsettling. Why, he almost looked as if he wanted to draw her into an embrace. Impossible! It had to be a trick of the moonlight or a distortion of the smoke from his cheroot.

  Or perhaps he was insulted by the way she had laughed at him—well, not at him, but at his antics? Of course, he had laughed first, but a man’s pride was a strange and precarious thing.

  He said nothing else to her, yet unnervingly did not take his eyes from her face. Eleanor felt herself begin to fidget as her discomfort rose. Deciding it was probably best to leave the viscount alone with his odd mood, she excused herself. The moment she reentered the drawing room she headed directly toward Bianca, who was sitting alone on a love seat, an untouched cup of tea set in front of her.

  “You look a little pale.” Eleanor pressed her hand to Bianca’s forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Bianca glanced away. “Just a little tired, perhaps.”

  “Should we leave?”

  “Soon, I think.” Her eyes grew cautious. “I’d rather not be the first, though, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.” Worried by her sister’s bland expression, she enfolded Bianca’s hand tightly within her own. “Did you enjoy your stroll in the garden with Lord Benton?”

  “‘Twas fine. A bit chilled, as I said.”

  “The weather or the viscount?” Eleanor murmured with a smile, but it withered quickly at the sight of Bianca’s tense, dour face. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

  “I’m f
ine.” Bianca reached for her tea. Lifting the silver spoon resting on the saucer, she placed it inside the cup and began to stir. Around and around and around.

  Eleanor’s hand shot out to cease the movement. Bianca took her tea with no milk or sugar; there was no reason to stir the brew once, let alone ten times. “What happened out there?”

  “Nothing!” Bianca’s voice was low, yet vehement. “I thought he was going to kiss me. Truth be told, I hoped he would. But he didn’t. He almost seemed, I don’t know, angry at me. Why, I have no idea.”

  Bianca hitched her shoulders as if to shrug it off, but Eleanor could tell her sister was distressed. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m glad it happened.” Bianca’s hand crept to her chest and she took in a deep breath. “It made me realize that you were right to caution me and I was foolish for ignoring you. The viscount is not the right man for me. He’s far too old, for one thing, and no doubt set in his ways. Better to discover that now, for it gives me a chance to be more receptive when meeting other gentlemen.”

  Eleanor nodded approvingly. The thought of Bianca and Lord Benton had always made her queasy in a way she could never quite articulate. Yet the sight of her sister’s sad face left Eleanor with a tight knot of guilt, worrying that her interference was the real reason the viscount had backed away from his courtship.

  Chapter 7

  Eleanor hastily tugged on her gloves as she descended the staircase. They were going to be much more than fashionably late to Lady Ashfield’s garden party and it was all her fault. She had spent too much time this morning on household matters, barely leaving enough time to get ready.

  The earl did not employ a social secretary, so the task of writing thank-you notes to various hostesses had fallen to Eleanor. And the growing feud between the cook and housekeeper could not be allowed to escalate any further. It simply had to be addressed immediately and with skillful diplomacy, since both individuals were essential employees.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” Bianca asked when Eleanor reached the landing. “I thought we agreed you would wear one of my new gowns. I hung the lavender muslin in your wardrobe two days ago.”

  “I didn’t have time to make the necessary alterations,” Eleanor replied.

  “Surely you could have found something else?” Bianca asked. “Honestly, Eleanor, there are times I think you deliberately make yourself look older.”

  Eleanor pursed her lips, hurt by the edge of annoyance in her sister’s tone. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

  Bianca’s face crumpled. “Of course not! How can you even imagine such a dreadful thing?”

  Eleanor lowered her chin, embarrassed by her comment. It was hardly Bianca’s fault that she was dressed in a dull, serviceable gray gown, suitable for governesses and chaperones and spinsters. Truly, all that was missing was a frilly lace cap.

  “Thank you for the gift,” Eleanor said. “I promise to wear the gown as soon as I can alter it to fit me properly.”

  Bianca’s expression lightened. “At least wear one of my new bonnets. Please?”

  Not knowing what else to do, Eleanor nodded. Bianca smiled, then scurried up the stairs. She returned quickly, a frothy, feathery concoction in her hand.

  Eleanor stood in front of the hall mirror and switched hats. She could feel a blush rising up her throat as she adjusted the whimsical creation on her head. It was youthful and frivolous and Eleanor felt like a fraud wearing it, for she was neither of those things.

  “Father said he might stop by the party this afternoon,” Bianca said as they stepped into the carriage. “There are a few people he’d like us to meet.”

  Eleanor stiffened at the remark, knowing she had been naive to think the earl would ignore them forever. He’d brought Bianca to Town to find her a husband, a rich one, Eleanor was certain. It stood to reason that he would eventually get around to accomplishing that task.

  As the carriage pulled away, Eleanor concentrated on calming her nerves. She always suspected the worst when it came to the earl, but there had to be at least a dozen wealthy gentlemen in society whom her sister would happily accept as a husband. And as long as the settlement was large enough, the earl most likely would not object either. Or so Eleanor hoped.

  It took nearly an hour to arrive at their destination, and Eleanor was glad to have the time to collect herself. After greeting their hosts, Eleanor and Bianca mingled through the crowd, searching for familiar, friendly faces. There were a large number of guests milling about on the Ashfields’ terrace and lawns, partaking of the various refreshments. It was a glorious day filled with bright sunshine and blue skies and everyone seemed to be having a lovely time.

  The gardens were simply spectacular. Blooms of all shapes and sizes in more colors than one could count were set in neat rows among the landscape, while other sections boasted tall flowering fruit trees. Eleanor wondered idly whether there would be any beestings, since the sweet floral scents were so abundant and irresistible.

  “Oh, look, there’s Father.” Bianca waved merrily.

  Eleanor could not contain her groan as the earl stepped on the edge of a flower bed, crushing several delicate blooms, and strode purposefully toward them. Elegantly dressed in a dark green coat, buff breeches, and shiny Hessian boots, he looked like a young dandy, though up close one could see the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

  “You’re late,” he grumbled.

  “Not so very much,” Bianca said with a smile.

  “‘Tis my fault,” Eleanor added. “There were several household matters that needed my immediate attention.”

  “Then you should have stayed behind.” The earl pursed his lips as he looked down at her. “Good God, didn’t you glance in a mirror before you left, Eleanor? You look positively ridiculous in that bonnet,” he commented in an exasperated tone before taking Bianca’s arm possessively and leading her away.

  “‘Tis lovely to see you too, sir,” Eleanor muttered. She gingerly touched the edge of her bonnet, then lowered her head and doggedly followed.

  Stopping to greet a group gathered beneath a bower of willows, the earl bowed low. “Ladies, gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Bianca,” he said. “My dear, allow me to present Lady Audrey, Mrs. Hartgrove, her son, Mr. Jasper Hartgrove, Viscount Ogden, Sir Lucian Whitney, and Miss Everly.”

  Bianca executed a graceful curtsy. There was a chorus of greetings as everyone acknowledged the introduction and the usual inconsequential social conversation began. Eleanor stood awkwardly behind her sister for a few moments, trying to decide which would attract less attention—to stay or go.

  Digging deep to rally her courage, Eleanor was preparing to quietly slip away when Lady Audrey abruptly ceased talking in the middle of a sentence and stared pointedly at Eleanor. “And you are …?”

  Everyone turned to stare. Eleanor felt her face begin to heat, but she smiled brightly, trying to brazen it out. The earl cast a lazy eye in her direction, then turned away.

  “Oh, that’s my older daughter,” he said dismissively. “Eleanor.”

  “Lady Eleanor,” she said defensively. His rudeness stung more than she would have thought, as did this public exposure to his disregard. “‘Tis lovely to meet you all. And I must say, your bonnet is especially fetching, Lady Audrey. Wherever did you acquire it?”

  Lady Audrey’s puzzled eyes moved between Eleanor and the earl, but she recovered nicely. She told Eleanor of the milliner on Bond Street she frequented, then mentioned a dressmaker. Eleanor smiled encouragingly and feigned interest, all the while seething inside.

  Fortunately, the earl did not linger. He spirited Mrs. Hartgrove toward the refreshment table when she mentioned how parched her throat felt. Sir Lucian also excused himself and Lord Waverly took his place. This time Eleanor was included in the introductions, since Lady Audrey made them.

  There was a good deal of smiles and laughter peppered in with the conversation and Eleanor was glad to see Bianca relaxed and happy.
Yet when the group decided to move to a sunny spot, Eleanor used the opportunity to go off on her own. Though she vowed not to show it, the earlier unpleasantness with the earl left her feeling shaken. A bit of solitude was needed in order to collect herself.

  Spying a splendid rose arbor, Eleanor walked away from the crowd. When she reached the arbor, the heady fragrance engulfed her, along with an odd sense of peace. Though she had never been in this particular garden before, the familiar, welcome scent of the roses provided the serenity she craved.

  Her solitude, however, was short-lived. Within minutes she heard the steady crunch of footfalls approaching. Glancing over her shoulder, she was more than surprised to see Viscount Benton striding along the shell-strewn path, his eyes fixed steadily on her.

  “Lady Eleanor! I am delighted to see you again.” He took her hand, his strong fingers wrapping possessively around hers. With a devilish smile he lifted it, pressing his lips suggestively against her wrist, somehow finding the small section not covered by her glove. “The hour was growing so late I feared you might not make an appearance.”

  A coy woman would have blushed and stammered and cast him a demure smile. Instead, Eleanor’s mouth gaped open in surprise. “Me? You were waiting to see me?”

  “Who else?”

  Who else indeed? Eleanor could not believe he was being sincere. She studied him closely, but his gray eyes were unreadable. “Why are you so eager to see me, my lord? Are you angry at my interference between you and my sister, perchance?” Eleanor asked, hitting upon what she believed the only logical explanation.

  “Do I look angry, Lady Eleanor?”

  Heavens, no. He looked divine. His navy breeches hugged his muscular thighs in a most provocative manner, the matching jacket stretched the breadth of his wide shoulders. On another man the outfit would have appeared somber, almost dour, but Lord Benton had such a strong sense of style he easily carried it off.

  “It would be understandable if you did hold some resentment toward me,” she continued, still convinced he must be annoyed with her. Bianca was a beautiful woman. Any man would be upset to have lost her.