Lord of Sin

by Madeline Hunter

  The outburst astonished Ewan. He knew that Michael had been little more than a street urchin as a boy. He was aware that what polish Michael possessed had been learned through careful study of the clientele while he worked in elite gaming halls as a youth.

  He had never known, however, that his manservant had been part of a farming family displaced by the enclosures sweeping England.

  Nor had he suspected that Michael harbored some revolutionary beliefs. Or any beliefs, for that matter.

  Bride’s stone had cracked. She looked at Michael and a sweet softness claimed her expression. “Jilly, I think we should have a cake for this evening.”

  “Sugar cone is aboot gone,” Jilly said.

  “Then use what is there. I think we should celebrate our good fortune in having such an intelligent and kindhearted guest.”

  Ewan did not miss the singularity of her favor. Michael brightened at the clear approval of his hostess.

  Absolutely no such approval marked her expression when she again turned toward Ewan. “Lord Lyndale, perhaps this afternoon we should discuss your great mission here. I trust you have had time to do the investigating you thought was warranted.”

  “Certainly, Miss Cameron. I believe I have learned all that I require.”

  “Remember, do not say a word,” Bride said as her sisters gathered in the library that afternoon. “I will speak for us.”

  She gave her sisters a quick inspection. They had dressed in their best garments for this meeting. Bride, however, wore an ugly pelisse robe of severe and relentlessly modest cut. It fastened up the front to her neck and no decoration relieved its brown wool fabric.

  “Mary, if you encourage him in the least, it will be bread and water for you for a week.”

  Mary sank into a pout that claimed her whole body. Anne’s attention drifted to the heavens. Joan fidgeted in the dress that Bride had forced her to stay in after dinner.

  Lord Lyndale entered, looking as impressive and handsome and arrogant as ever. He paused a moment when he saw she was not alone.

  “How good that you are all here,” he said dryly. His attention focused completely on her. His expression implied he found her attempts to find protection charming.

  Did the man think she was such an idiot she would meet with him in privacy?

  He gave her a smoldering look that made her nape tingle. No, not an idiot. He thought she was an eager, starving, shameless woman.

  She leveled an indifferent gaze at him in response. That appeared to amuse him.

  He did not sit in the chair waiting. Instead he cocked one elbow on the mantel and relaxed into a pose that spoke assumptions of command.

  “Here is how I see things, ladies. Bear with me while I share my thoughts.”

  “Take your time, sir. We are sure your judgments are considered and sober, and that you only have our welfare at heart.” Bride made no effort to keep sarcasm from tingeing her tone.

  “Your industry is impressive.” He did not even pretend to be speaking to her sisters. He addressed only her. “However, conducting it here is very inconvenient. The closest publishers are in Edinburgh, after all.”

  “We manage that inconvenience, thank you.”

  “Knowing something of the income such plates might achieve, I calculate that it barely pays the lease, let alone keeps you in food and fuel.”

  “We are neither starving nor freezing.”

  “You are not starving because you are poaching Sutherland’s game. I daresay you help yourself to fuel from that preserve, as well, so the lack of both starving and freezing involves criminal activity that must not continue. I must insist that you cease that at once.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bride saw Joan suck in her cheeks in amusement at Lyndale’s assessment of the criminal ways that needed ceasing.

  “At best your lives are precarious, Miss Cameron. You cannot afford new dresses, and resort to your father’s and grandfather’s old garments. The horse you use is at least ten years old—”

  “Twelve,” Anne corrected, displaying once again her regrettable tendency to pay attention only at the most unhelpful moments.

  “You have land leased that you cannot work, and too few livestock to do more than barely keep poverty at bay. In short, this household is a tragedy in the making.”

  “Well, sir, if things get truly bad, I will sell off one of my sisters. No doubt there is some unscrupulous, aristocratic libertine who will take one on and pay well for her.”

  Silence fell. Lyndale just looked at her.

  “I do not expect to need to, however,” she added. “I am very sure that the faeries will see that our situation does not get that dire.”

  Joan swallowed a laugh too late. A deep snort snuck out.

  Lyndale was not amused. “I sympathize with your desire to stay in your family’s home. However, it is no longer safe or realistic to do so. I will buy you a house in Edinburgh and supplement your income so that you have a decent and secure life there. The allowance will permit you to dress appropriately, and begin moving in society. You will have friends, and a future. If you choose to continue the engraving, that is your decision. I will not insist you give it up.”

  Bride felt her neck tightening. “How generous of you.”

  “Now, we should accomplish this move at once. I will go to Edinburgh, find the house, and return for you within the month at the latest.”

  There it was. Just like that. The lord speaketh and the women accepteth.

  The man’s arrogance was not to be borne.

  “Lord Lyndale, allow me now to explain how I see this.” Bride struggled to keep her voice calm despite the way blood heated her head. “Your promises to Duncan McLean are not our concern. We do not choose to have you take over our lives. We will not be moving to Edinburgh, or anywhere else. Our life and our work is here.”

  Anne decided to chime in again. “Yes, our work is right here, in these glens, doing what our father taught us to do. If we were to move, what would hap—”

  Bride grasped Anne’s arm again. Hard. “Furthermore, Lord Lyndale, we do not want you buying us new dresses and bonnets and food.”

  “I do,” Mary whispered.

  “I will, however, agree to a suggestion you made the day that you came,” Bride said. “If you choose to make settlements on my sisters so that they have some security, and better chances of marrying, I will not interfere.”

  Mary began weeping with happiness. Joan regarded Bride with shock. Anne cocked her head, confused.

  Lord Lyndale’s gaze captured Bride’s. His attention became invasive, as if he worked at deciphering her mind.

  “Your sisters, you say. And you, Miss Cameron. What of your future?”

  “I have my father’s legacy. If need be, I can sell his collection, too, one print at a time. Should my skill in engraving ever fail me, that is. I assure you, my future is more secure than you can ever imagine.”

  It was not clear that he heard her. He just kept looking at her in a way that had her feeling too much like an injured bird in a hawk’s sights.

  “It would be best if I speak with your sister alone regarding these settlements, ladies. Would you be kind enough to leave us.” He walked over to the door and opened it.

  All three of her sisters jumped to their feet in obedience.

  “No,” Bride cried. “That is, this concerns them all and they should be here.”

  “Miss Cameron, it would be indelicate to discuss the particulars in their presence.”

  He bestowed a magnanimous smile on them and crooked his finger to beckon them to the door.

  Bride caught Joan’s skirt. “Do not leave this room,” she hissed.

  “Bride, it really would be best if you alone settled the rest with him,” Joan whispered. “Mary will be so glad for anything that she will make a scene that renders negotiation on the sum impossible. And Anne, well, who knows what disaster she will make. She has already come close to blurting everything twice today.” She extricated her
skirt from Bride’s desperate grip. “We trust you to do your best by us. You have managed him brilliantly thus far.”

  Bride watched in horror as her sisters filed out past Lord Lyndale.

  When the last skirt hem crossed the threshold, he closed the door.

  And locked it.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  What are you doing?” Bride demanded. She intended her voice to be stern. Unfortunately, the question came out as a squeak.

  “I am making sure that we are not disturbed.”

  A rising panic said that being disturbed would be a very good idea. Vitally important. “I insist that you unlock that door.”

  “Miss Cameron, if given the chance, your youngest sister will poke her nose in as she did yesterday in your studio. We must attend to matters without such interruption.”

  Bride’s gaze darted from Lord Lyndale to the lock and back again.

  “You do not have to look like a cornered rabbit,” he said, strolling toward her. “I never force myself on women, as you already know very well.”

  She did not want him even alluding to that, let alone implying he knew she had been agreeable.

  He sat down on the sofa. “Now, let us talk about these settlements. I am pleased you agree to them. It will make the discharge of my duty much easier.”

  He was not right next to her on the sofa, but he was still too close. His proximity provoked a physical hum all through her. She felt very much like the cornered rabbit he spoke of.

  She jumped up and moved to a nice, separate, safe chair.

  His reaction was a vague, patient smile.

  “Shall we say I settle five thousand on each of them, invested in the funds? That will produce an income of approximately two-fifty a year apiece.”

  The high amount stunned her. She did not know what to say.

  He waited for her response. When none came, he continued. “That should be enough for any of them to live independently. If they continue to live together, it will keep them handsomely. It is also sufficient to attract husbands of respectable means and intentions.”

  All that was true. She could not deny it.

  “It is also sufficient to maintain the household in Edinburgh, or some other city,” he added.

  “No.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You are not being rational. Since you impress me as an intelligent woman, I cannot help but wonder why you are so resistant to this move.”

  She did not need him wondering about that, or anything else. She just needed him to leave this house and this glen.

  She rose from her chair. “Call it sentimentality. Perhaps I worry that such incomes will attract men for the wrong reasons if they live in a city. Your offer is generous, however, and I thank you. It is more than sufficient to discharge your obligations. Our business is therefore completed. Now, I must see to household matters, and you will want to prepare for your journey back to London.”

  She marched to the door. She fumbled at the lock.

  A hand came to rest against the door’s boards. Another closed over hers on the latch. A masculine scent and aura encompassed her.

  “Our business is hardly completed, Bride, and you know it.”

  His voice was right near her ear. Each word felt like a tiny caress.

  She battled to freeze out the traitorous chills shimmering down her neck.

  She faced the door, refusing to look at him. “It is very completed, such as it will ever be.”

  “Hardly.” He gently pried her hand off the latch. “Also, there is the matter of your future. I cannot leave that insecure, and fulfill my oath.”

  Also?

  “I have the leg—”

  “Even if you sell every print, it will not ensure your keep forever.”

  She sensed a warmth on her head. A tingling. He was touching her hair. Her essence sighed and started a wonderful melting, despite her best efforts to turn to granite.

  “You are refusing the income because of what happened this morning, Bride. That is not necessary. That is a thing apart from this settlement. I require no more of you than I do of your sisters.”

  She groped for self-possession. “You are both presumptuous and too familiar, sir. I did not give you permission to address me as Bride.”

  He shifted until he leaned one shoulder against the door. She could see him now, even without looking right at him. Her heart began pounding.

  His hand cupped her chin and turned her face to his. “I am inclined to presume the right to be very familiar with a woman after she has let me kiss her breast.”

  “I did not allow—”

  “Yes, sweet lady, you definitely did. You are not a girl, Bride. It is normal for a woman to welcome pleasure. That is the great prize of maturity for females—the ability and right to enjoy pleasure without guilt.”

  As if to prove what he meant, he kissed her. Gently. Deliberately. Seductively.

  She tried to believe she had not seen that kiss coming, but a part of her, too much, had been waiting for it.

  She fought to remain impassive, but her lips throbbed under his skillful assault. The sensation slid down in maddening streams.

  She struggled to be strong and rigid, but her legs turned to water and a spinning daze made her dizzy.

  His arm moved to embrace and support her. His fingers still rested on her face. He gazed down at her.

  “You will accept the settlement, and you will all move to Edinburgh. The house and money will be yours free and clear. You will owe me nothing, least of all your favors.”

  She wanted to damn his arrogance. Her mind was incapable of forming the words because most of her attention was on his face and eyes. The settlements became a foggy memory within her mesmerized senses.

  He pulled her closer, into a claiming embrace that held her tightly against his warmth. “Now, that is out of the way. Which means that we can finish this.”

  Her conscience shrieked a scold to stop this madness.

  Her body just laughed at the shrill voice until it faded.

  After that she heard nothing. Saw nothing. She dwelled in a mist of pleasure, where she was young and beautiful.

  Ewan had forgotten how much he enjoyed a challenge.

  It had been so long since he had met a woman who posed one, that the heady anticipation of victory felt new and potent.

  It sharpened his senses and made him very aware of the woman he was kissing. He noticed things he never cared about anymore. How her height fit so nicely against his body. How her fading resistance slowly made her soft and pliable. How the gentle music of her sighs rose and fell depending on how he caressed her.

  He kissed her hard, to defeat any remaining nonsense about guilt. His tongue stroked the warm, soft cave of her mouth. She stiffened for a moment, trying to control the deep tremors he felt in her. Then she yielded with a willowy, beautiful, fluid softening.

  Her freed passion was as intoxicating as her resistance had been. She boldly captured his tongue, then used her own aggressively.

  She touched his face and ended the long kiss with a deep gasp. She looked up at him with moist, dreamy eyes, the image of a woman lost to sensation.

  “As seducing scoundrels go, you are superb, Lord Lyndale.”

  He took the opportunity to gently bite down her neck. “Thank you. It is my most prized accomplishment.” His mouth closed on her pulse.

  She angled her head so he could have a better purchase. “Did you have to study and practice hard to achieve greatness in your chosen area of endeavor?”

  “Night and day for years. A man’s life must stand for something, however, so it was worth it.”

  Her throaty, low laugh warmed his ear. He looked up to see a spark of intelligence brightening her gaze.

  That would never do. The last thing he wanted was her thinking about this. Or anything. Who knew where that might lead? Probably to her running away again. If she stopped now, he would want to kill himself.

  He used his hands to ensure that woul
d not happen. He caressed her through the ugly dress, pressing her lithe form so she felt his hands. She flexed subtly, deliciously. Her responses spoke her pleasure, and encouraged more. Finally her arms rose so she embraced him, clinging to his shoulders as her body completely surrendered.

  In a blur of savage response, he claimed her lips and neck and chest with his mouth and her body with his hands. He could not get enough of her. He came close to pushing her against the door and lifting her skirt so he could take her now, at once.

  With another woman he might have. A spot of sense remained within that rough hunger, however. The awareness of who she was did not get consumed by the heat.

  Forcing control, he caressed her breasts. Astonishment sounded on her sighs. Lovely, joyful wonder. He stroked their fullness while he kissed her, and the melody changed as her breath shortened. Her fingers grasped his shoulders harder. Her back arched.

  He stopped kissing her and looked down at the soft swell under his hand. He trailed up to her neck and released the top little hook of the dress.

  He looked into her eyes. No objection shadowed the pleasure reflected in them. No resistance threatened to stop him. She was a woman entranced.

  He lifted her in his arms, carried her to the sofa, settled her beside him, and kissed her senseless. He drowned her in pleasure and began working on the dress again.

  She looked down at his fingers while they loosened the tiny hooks. “It did not help much. The dress. It was supposed to make me ugly.”

  “The dress is truly ugly, but you never could be. Also, this style is so convenient it is bound to encourage a man’s imagination.” He pushed the two sides of the bodice aside, revealing just how convenient it was. Her breasts rose above simple stays, sheathed in the filmy fabric of a threadbare chemise.

  He glossed his fingertips slowly over the firm swells of her breasts. His sense contracted to only the exquisite feel of her and the sound of her staccato breathing.

  Her lids rose a fraction and she watched what he was doing.

  “Is it your intention to drive me mad first?”