Wicked As Sin

by Jillian Hunter

  She was drenched to the lining of her cloak when she returned home. Shivering yet determined to stay in good spirits, she ordered the servants to carry to the dining hall two Gothic candlesticks that stood over seven feet high. She bought a basketful of flowers from the gypsies who came to the door even though Mrs. Sudley chided her gently for the extravagance and muttered that they’d been stolen from Alethea’s own garden.

  And if he did not return by Friday, Alethea would know he was a lost cause once and for all.

  She had done her best. She had even invited a handful of their mutual neighbors to supper to make Gabriel’s acquaintance and to play a friendly game of cards.

  If Gabriel chose to decline her invitation, it would only reflect badly upon his manners and prove what everyone in Helbourne privately thought of him.

  Everyone, unfortunately, except her; she did not understand why she persisted in trying to prove the rest of the parish wrong.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Friday morning, during a steady downpour, two messages arrived separately for Alethea. One was sent by her brother, explaining that he had been forced to stay another day due to the inclement weather and would likely return on Saturday morning. He would not worry Alethea by riding in a storm.

  The other came from Gabriel and informed her that she should expect him at the table, storm or clear skies, and please, would she forgive him if he appeared a little the worse for wear? He expected to arrive directly at her house and would not have time to change into fresh attire.

  Alethea drove her long-suffering cook to distraction. “What do you think, Mrs. Hooper? Is Sir Gabriel an epicure or not?”

  The ruddy-faced servant frowned at this question. “Well, that’s hard to answer. He was born in England, wasn’t he, and he rode in the cavalry. So I’d guess—”

  Alethea restrained a grin. “Are you of the opinion that he’s not a fancy eater?”

  “I don’t have to make turtle soup, do I? I’m not at all partial to these foreign dishes.”

  “Good heavens, no. I was thinking of a tasty rump and one of your delicious plum puddings.”

  Mrs. Hooper nodded in agreement. “Hearty English fare. I draw the line at serving snails at my table. Sir Gabriel appears to be a healthy young man who would not appreciate grubs for supper.”

  “I can’t imagine Sir Gabriel would eat snails, either,” she said.

  “Well, soldiers have to make do under tough circumstances. Trust me, my lady, to set a proper table.”

  “Your culinary talents are not in question,” Alethea said. “Only whether our guest of honor will be here to appreciate them.”

  Gabriel had made good time from London, determined the miserable weather would not deter him. He’d set out before sunbreak Friday and arrived at Helbourne Hall with barely an hour in which to bathe and change into his evening clothes. With luck he would cut a presentable figure at supper. At any rate, it was a short ride to Alethea’s house, the rain had eased, and he wasn’t going to embarrass himself by showing up late.

  Still, it took a deucedly frustrating half hour he had not anticipated to travel the long way through the woods. He wished belatedly that he had taken the time to have the bridge reinforced. As he cantered past the ominous point of crossing, he half-fancied that he heard the unsettled spirits of the young girl and her murderer who had perished there a century past.

  “Fool,” he said to himself.

  When had he started believing in ghosts?

  When, in fact, had he ever given a thought to star-crossed lovers at all? Or to love, for that matter?

  Alethea hurried through the hall, opened the front door, and stepped out onto the rain-splotched steps. The small park that enclosed the estate glistened darkly in the moonlight as if it had been sprinkled with diamonds. She breathed in the dampness with a shiver of pleasure. Something magical sparkled in the air. She thought it might be hope.

  “You’ll ruin your hair, my lady, and your dress,” warned the housekeeper. “No sane person is going to come to supper in this weather. A shame, though, all that good food going to waste.”

  Alethea wasn’t paying the least attention. She was staring in delight at the dark-clad rider who’d just emerged from the woods. Gabriel, more handsome than she could bear, but here. He’d kept his word. She ran down the steps to greet him, lifting her hand to her mouth when she saw the muck stains on his black Hessian boots and silk-lined evening cloak.

  He grinned, dismounting before her. One of the grooms dashed across the grass to take Gabriel’s horse. “Someone ought to repair that bridge,” he said. “I shall have a firm talk with the property owner.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said in sympathy, lowering her hand. “You’ve ruined your fine clothes.”

  “You’re getting wet, too.” Although it was obvious that she would look elegant in anything she wore. Or nothing. Especially nothing. His breath hitched at the thought of rain sluicing over her nude body, of being invited to warm her with his hands, his mouth. He supposed he couldn’t kiss her outside without the risk of being seen.

  “Gabriel?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

  “Is there any reason that we’re standing out here?” she asked with a fleeting smile that hinted that she guessed what he was thinking. No. Not likely. Alethea was as pure-hearted as they came, one of those innocents who always gave the benefit of the doubt to men like him who did not deserve it.

  “Are we waiting for your brother?” he asked, looking past her to the house.

  She smiled. “My brother won’t be joining us, unfortunately. He sent his regrets. And he does remember you.”

  Gabriel hid a grimace. He could imagine that what Lord Wrexham remembered of him was not flattering—all the fights at school, the pranks he played. The more the earl reflected upon those days, alas, the less liable he would be to encourage Alethea to invite Gabriel’s company.

  She bit her lip as if she were tempted to laugh. “Come inside. Vickers, my brother’s valet, is home.” She wheeled, taking his hand. “He’ll brush off the mud. It’s not as if he isn’t used to it. And if you’re going to stay—”

  She stopped, suddenly releasing his hand. “You grew up in the country. I expect I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind. I’ve probably forgotten what I knew. My life here was—”

  “—not pleasant? That I remember. But things are different now.”

  He brushed his gloved fingers across her cheek. “You’re getting soaked.”

  “I don’t mind the rain,” she said, her voice as soft as smoke.

  “Neither do I.” He tracked a damp rivulet of raindrops down her neck to her shoulder. “We can have supper out here if you like. All we’ll miss is the candlelight.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.” She shook her head as if coming to her senses. “For a soldier I do believe there’s a bit of the poet in your soul.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Can you never accept a compliment?”

  “I don’t know. I might the day I deserve one.”

  Come on,” she said. “I can hear a carriage coming down the road.”

  “You really did invite other guests?”

  She stared at him in astonishment. “Did you think you were coming to supper here alone?”

  A smile crossed his hard, sun-bronzed face. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  She gave him directions to her brother’s chamber, summoned Vickers, and escaped to her own room to tidy her hair. Naturally it had taken on a life on its own, curling wildly in every direction that defied her comb. She had never seen Gabriel in evening wear, but his dark elegance had left her breathless and determined to look her best. She began to ring for her maid, then stopped to regard her bedraggled reflection in the mirror.

  “This,” she said in distaste, “is what becomes of young women who spend too much time with horses. Oh, bother, look at that dress. Only a featherb
rain would stand in the rain wearing light green silk. I’m the scandal of the parish, not Gabriel.”

  She’d have to change, and hurry. She could hear voices conversing belowstairs, her invited guests having braved the rain to sup with her. She ought at least not to look like an urchin.

  She removed a thin lemon-gauze dinner gown from her wardrobe, reaching back to unhook her dress. The door behind her opened. She muttered, “I was just about to ring for you, Joan. I’ve three minutes to look presentable, and if you could help with these hooks—”

  “I can do it in two.”

  She pivoted in shock, staring up into Gabriel’s laughing blue eyes. His cropped black hair had been brushed to a crisp sheen, his cloak discarded, the mud whisked from his tailored evening coat and tight-fitting pantaloons. Gabriel, a devil of beauty as she had never seen him. And what did she look like? A half-dressed slattern with hair like a haystack.

  What was he doing in her room? And why did she not order him out immediately?

  “Allow me,” he said.

  “Allow you to what?”

  “To make you look presentable.” His warm perusal warned her that presentability was not foremost on his mind, a suspicion he proved by adding, “Although I’ll be damned if I have ever seen a more fetching sight than you right now.”

  A wave of wicked excitement swept over her. He was gorgeous, arrogant, amusing…and alone with her in her bedroom.

  She said, “You shouldn’t be seeing me at all.”

  “Do you have a stocking I may use as a blindfold?” he asked, the glitter in his blue eyes belying his polite inquiry.

  “A stocking?”

  “I am trying, Alethea, to be a gentleman.”

  She had never heard such an absurd claim in her life. And while she stood there utterly immobilized, he reached around her shoulders and expertly unhooked her gown.

  She choked back a cry of indignation. “Gabriel Boscastle,” she said in a breathless voice that made her sound like some silly chit greeting an admirer at her first assembly.

  “That was not the act of a gentleman.”

  He shrugged casually. “I only said I was trying, not that I would succeed.”

  “Well, try harder.” She glanced around for a shawl with which to cover either herself or his handsome, mocking face. “Go downstairs and have a brandy.”

  “Shall I bring one up for you?”

  “No. Go and introduce yourself to anyone who may have arrived.”

  “Do I look tidy enough for your party?” he asked with a boyish grin clearly designed to disarm her. He was wearing a loose ruffled muslin shirt beneath his long-tailored jacket.

  She sighed.

  He feigned a frown. “Is it the ruffles? I’ve never been much of a man for frills and furbelows.”

  “You are in my bedchamber!”

  “I must have gotten lost.” He ran his hand lightly over her half-bare shoulder. “Or else I have unerring instincts.”

  “You have the devil’s instincts,” she muttered.

  “Darling,” he chided. “Is that any way to talk to a guest?”

  “The door is right behind you.” She shivered delicately. His fingers were wreaking lovely havoc on her shoulder. “Do the dressing table and the bed give the impression of a dining hall?”

  He glanced around distractedly. “Come to think of it, no.” He drew her closer to him. “I must admit, however, that you whet my appetite more than anything I’ve ever been served at a banquet.” His voice deepened. “Is that your bed?”

  She took a breath, tried not to think of what he had in mind. Tried not to picture herself lying beneath him on her bed, his strong body over hers. “Yes.”

  He paused. “Where you sleep?”

  “I should think that would be obvious.”

  “Right under that window?” he asked, peering past her.

  “Do you want a description of the roof? The eaves?”

  “I can see your room from mine.”

  “How do you know it’s mine?” she asked unthinkingly.

  A grin curved his lips.

  “Gabriel,” she said in a whisper. “You are in my brother’s house, and as such—”

  “I love your hair loose,” he said quietly. “I never dreamt it was that long and lustrous. Why don’t you wear it down more often? You look like one of those Italian princesses in a painting.”

  “A lady of our time observes certain rules,” she managed to get out, “and a gentleman today does not—”

  “—take advantage?”

  Which he did, rubbing his closely shaven cheek against hers before he claimed her mouth in a hard, unapologetic kiss. And then another until her mouth softened under his gentle aggression. His hand locked around her waist, pulling her against his body until she felt herself yield to his strength.

  Dangerous? Without a doubt.

  But like a fire in the midst of winter, the heat he offered beckoned. And if she burned herself, would that not be better than the cold isolation of the past year?

  Overwhelming, the warmth of his mouth on hers. Surely winter did not last forever.

  “Gabriel…”

  When she parted her lips it was with the intent to object, but then he teased his tongue deep into her mouth. His face blurred in the candlelight. She was slipping, unstable, caught between dark and light, between surrender and self-protection.

  “I rode all the way back from London in the rain to be here,” he murmured.

  “For supper,” she reminded him shakily.

  “I’m sorry.” He dragged his mouth against her cheek. “I can’t help myself. You’re everything lovely and pure, and—”

  She shook her head in bemusement. “Then why am I kissing you?”

  He traced the curve of her hip with his fingertips. “Because I’m everything dangerous and bad, a temptation to the pure, and I always have been.” He paused, his eyes glinting. “Do you want me to help you take off your dress?”

  “What?” she asked, giggling as if she’d misheard him.

  “I know it isn’t proper, but as I am here, I might as well prove I’m capable of the deed. I hate to stand about being useless.”

  Alethea placed her hand against his firmly muscled chest, wondering why his low voice thrilled her when it should have sent her running. Proper. Improper. Once the lines that delineated her behavior had been clearly etched. She had known whom to marry, to befriend, to trust. Now the image of what should be was tainted. She could not judge by the past.

  Nor could she ever go back to what she had been in her Eden years, although she doubted she would ever become what a man like Gabriel would inevitably desire. Ruined or not, she could not give herself to a life of pleasure without love.

  She drew an unsteady breath. He had already pried free the impossible hooks of her dress. And while she had been lost in thought, resting in his embrace, he had also untied her chemise at one shoulder.

  Wicked, enterprising man. Perhaps she had not invited his seduction, but had she done anything to discourage it?

  “Gabriel,” she said sternly.

  His beautifully sculpted mouth grazed the tops of her breasts. By some dark magic he had unfastened those bindings, too. She gave a gasp, her knees folding in unwilling submission. Sensations, forbidden and thrilling, cascaded over her. Her nipples tightened. Deep in her belly a pulsing warmth pooled. She savored the strange pleasure for several moments more.

  “The devil, Gabriel,” she whispered, feeling his arms support her. “I did not invite you here for this.”

  They stumbled back, sank to the chair beside her wardrobe, his outsplayed thighs supporting her. She raised her hand, her earnest intention to push him away. Instead, she draped her arm over his shoulder in a gesture that spoke more of surrender than assertion.

  It was a subtlety of language he understood all too well.

  “I do apologize,” he muttered, his eyes feverish, a bright hot blue.

  “I should think so.”

  He lo
oked up briefly from her unfastened bodice. “If you were not a lady in the truest meaning of the word, the most decent one to ever grace my pathetic life, I would—”

  She pressed her finger to his lips. “I hope this is not meant to be an example of your restraint.”

  “Trust me, Alethea. For you I have locked shackles around my desires and swallowed the key.”

  “You’ve grown into a man without principle.”

  “Do you think I could change?”

  “Not in time for supper.” She reached back awkwardly to draw her gaping corset together. “Oh. How am I going to explain arriving late to my own party and barely able to—”

  His mouth flattened in a cynical smile. “You seem to be having difficulty breathing. Perhaps I should further loosen your stays?”

  “If I cannot breathe properly, it has nothing to do with the tightness of my lacings.”

  “Ah.” His sensual voice sent a shiver down her arms. “Then I may assume that there is only one other reason?”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. Far be it from her to admit that he had managed to unravel more than her bindings. And if she did not gather her wits, she would find herself completely undone in every sense of the word.

  “Do you know why ladies are so tightly laced into their corsets?” he asked, proceeding to pull together her short corset, her gown. “It is not to enhance your lovely forms. It is to keep rakes like me at bay.”

  She looked away, her reply barely audible. “It doesn’t stop the worst of them, though.”

  Strange response.

  He wondered for an unsettling moment what she could mean. If he had not been so caught up in restraining his rakish instincts, he might have had the insight to question her. Weak man of the flesh that he was, however, he was wholly absorbed in her earthly allure. He wanted any excuse to continue.

  He’d had some experience with innocence.

  He was better versed in darker pleasures.

  I saw the lady pay a visit to Mrs. Watson’s house late one night.