Tangled in Sin

by Lavinia Kent

  The man was a cad. He abducted her and then seduced her. Well, it hadn’t exactly been seduction. What did one call a morning…? She didn’t even know how to describe the situation to herself.

  And this afternoon? It was hard to even think about her actions—although she didn’t know what else she could have done.

  She rose from the dressing table, her spine held far straighter than she could ever remember. How did one eat dinner in such a dress? She couldn’t lean toward the table and was likely to leave half her dinner sitting on her bosom—and that was assuming there was room for even a single bite in her squeezed stomach. The maid had definitely pulled the laces rather tight.

  She was diverting herself.

  What was she going to do?

  She had promised James she would meet him. She always kept her promises. But he’d already betrayed her, lied to her. Did she owe him honesty?

  And what was the alternative? She was as trapped here as she had been in the cabin. If she explained the situation to Aunt Prudence, Prudence would express great sympathy and then arrange for the banns to be read. She would see no alternative but marriage.

  And was there an alternative?

  While the fact that her father had not shown up with a dozen armed men indicated her story had probably been believed, how long would it hold? Her father was not a stupid man—and for that matter Gillian was not a stupid woman. Cynthia might not be fond of her stepmother, might find her simpering, but she’d never thought her low on intellect.

  At some point someone would ask a question she could not answer—and then…

  Did she need to marry James?

  The question played over and over in her mind. She was not Jasmine. She had no desire to live in scandal—and scandal there would be if her…her…her dalliance was ever discovered.

  And what if she was with child? Her hand dropped to her belly.

  No. She would not be bullied, not even by her own thoughts.

  She would not marry any man she did not wish. She pushed aside for the moment the thought of what she wished.

  With some determination, she turned and walked to the door. Before anything else, there was dinner. Aunt Prudence had indicated that several neighbors had been invited and it was important to put on a good face. After dinner was another matter.

  Should she keep her promise?

  —

  James almost swallowed his tongue as Sin entered the room. He’d never been a fan of older fashions, much preferring the newer more natural silhouettes that allowed the body to show through, but as he saw Sin float into the room in one of his great-aunt’s gowns he developed a whole new appreciation. He’d known Sin had curves, but he hadn’t realized quite to what heights they could rise. A man might get lost in there—and never wish to be found.

  Unfortunately, the local squire’s son was also noticing. His gaze had not left Sin’s chest in the minutes since she’d come into the room. The boy hurried over to Aunt Prudence, eager for an introduction. James felt his chest puff out. Sin was his and he didn’t intend to compete for her attention with some pallid young boy. Well, he’d probably be much happier with a pallid young boy; Squire Thompson’s son was remarkably muscular.

  Sin smiled at the lad as he approached, although James was pleased to see her eyes rise to meet his own before she turned to the boy. Was the flush on her cheeks the result of their silent exchange or of her introduction to the pimply-faced youth? She was certainly smiling at him now, smiling and nodding.

  James did not like it at all.

  He picked up his wineglass and strode to stare out the window at the darkness. Maybe if it began to rain again the boy would have to leave, have to hurry home.

  A gentleman was allowed to hope.

  —

  What was wrong with the man? Cynthia peeked across the table at James. He was frowning again. Every time she’d peeked at him he’d been glowering. He hadn’t even tried to talk to her before dinner.

  Had he found out that she knew about the abduction?

  No, that was impossible.

  And she was the one who should be looking miserable. She was stuck at this house after having been abducted by her host, never mind that she hadn’t been able to resist kissing him. And now she was supposed to meet him for a late rendezvous.

  She peeked at him again as she turned to George Thompson. The boy was planning on taking a European tour in the fall and they’d had a fascinating conversation discussing all the places they’d like to go. Not that she was likely to ever get a chance. Girls did not get to take tours—although perhaps a wedding trip? She’d heard of several couples who’d traveled to France and Italy now that the peace had held for several years. It would be wonderful to see Venice, to see the magical golden light, to watch the gondolas easing up and down the canals, and the art, she must not forget the art. She smiled to herself, indulging in her daydream and then looked up to see James shooting her a most mincing gaze.

  What was wrong with the man? She repeated the question. And what was wrong with her? His kisses might have overcome her for a few minutes in the maze, but she’d rushed away as soon as she could afterward, unsure what to say and how to respond. Still, despite her excuses James had looked happy when she left him at the edge of the maze, but now he looked like the villain in an opera, all sharp corners and frowns.

  She had to leave.

  She had to flee.

  But how? The question played again and again in her mind as she smiled and flirted with Mr. Thompson. James would never let her leave if he knew her plans. He was so convinced that he knew best, knew what they needed to do. Somehow she had to get away. But how?

  —

  Cynthia stood just outside the door to the long gallery. The hall was dark and menacing. Only the thin sliver of light under the door gave any appearance of cheerfulness. But she would not be deceived; far more danger lay in that chamber than in this dark and empty hall.

  Here the only danger was from her own foolishness—there…Well, there the biggest danger was her own foolishness as well.

  She wrapped the thin shawl more tightly about her nightdress. She hated wandering the hall in so little clothing, but it would have been impossible for her to refasten either tonight’s gown or the afternoon’s day dress. The fastenings had been far more complicated than any she’d ever encountered. It wasn’t surprising that it had taken three maids to get tied and pinned into either piece of clothing.

  A slight breeze blew down the hall and she shivered, turning about to see if anyone was coming.

  It was only a draft.

  Still she shivered.

  Her mind was a convoluted mess.

  She knew what she wanted. She wanted James—or at least her body did. She refused to think that her mind did as well, to consider that perhaps she’d enjoyed talking to him more than she should. If she missed him, it was only her body. It could not be more than that. She refused to let it be more than that, refused to wish that it was possible for her to sit down and talk to him, to understand his motivations.

  It was all because of that damned kiss in the maze.

  It was the kiss that had left her blood hot and her body crying for more.

  She wanted to know and understand all that her body could feel—wanted to know all that he could make her feel.

  That did not, however, mean that she wanted to marry him.

  No, her body might crave his, but her mind did not—could not. Her mind understood too well the decision she must make, what she must do, the price she must pay.

  James had caused this whole situation and she was the one left paying the bill. She might almost understand why he’d done what he did—he did love his sister—but that didn’t mean she thought he’d been right.

  If only she could confront him about it, but she didn’t dare. Once he knew her feelings, he would be on his guard and she could not afford that. If he was wary she would have no chance to get away—and get away she must. The more she deliberated about it
the clearer it became that the longer she waited the more likely she was to become forced into marriage, forced into marriage with a man who’d made it very clear just how far he would go to get his own way.

  If he knew she was angry, that she wanted to leave, she would never get the chance. Her only hope was to lull him into thinking he had persuaded her—and there was one clear way for her to do that.

  Yes, if he knew she planned to flee she would be stopped before she made it to the bedroom door.

  A man who would abduct his own sister would have few qualms about using force to get what he wanted.

  No. She could not marry him.

  She glanced down at the flicker of light beneath the door.

  He was there, ready to be persuaded that he could trust her. And once she had him lulled, she would make her break for freedom. Although, she glanced down at her nightdress, she would need to find something to wear. It would be impossible to ride in one of Aunt Prudence’s dresses and her own ruined gown had disappeared.

  Taking a quiet step forward, she let her mind play over possibilities. Could she steal something of James’s? It seemed unlikely. If she took his clothing, he’d be sure to notice that quickly.

  No, there must be another way. Perhaps something from the stables? Maybe, but it would be a risk hoping she could find something appropriate that would fit.

  And what about shoes? It wasn’t like she wanted to ride to London in her ruined slippers, although she would if necessary.

  The door was just before her now. She placed a hand on the handle, debated one last time. No matter how many times she told herself that it was a way to keep James off guard, that he would never think she would flee after coming to him willingly, she knew deep in her heart that it was not the only answer. Even if he was angry that she had not appeared, he probably would not go rushing to her bedchamber to check on her. It would still be morning before anyone would miss her, and by morning she intended to be in London.

  So why was she really here? Her hand hesitated on the handle.

  And she let herself be honest.

  She was here because it was her only chance, her last chance to experiment, her last chance to break the rules, her last great adventure—her last chance to be with James.

  It might be hard to like him right now, she might even wonder if she hated him, but she could not resist him, was not sure she’d ever been able to.

  She pushed the handle down and entered.

  Chapter 16

  The door clicked. She’d come. James felt a long breath escape his body. He hadn’t been sure that she would. His anger and jealousy at dinner had confused her. Her eyes had spoken of her distrust and there’d been no way that he could reassure her. It had been all he could do to admit to himself that it was jealousy he felt.

  The door pushed open. Sin’s head peeked about, looking for him. He lifted the candle that he held so he could see her more clearly, the thin white nightdress drifting about her slender body, hinting at the curves beneath, the hair already escaping its braid, and the pale face shining with anxious energy. Even the pale pink toes, peeking from beneath her hem, drew him.

  Their eyes met and he felt the spark begin to grow. He didn’t know what it was about her that always had him feeling like something incredible was about to happen.

  Her lips didn’t smile, but she did enter the room, letting the door close about her. She wore nothing but a thin white nightdress and a shawl. His mind flashed back to when he’d first seen her at the cottage, standing in her chemise and a blanket. He swallowed.

  It said something very clear that she had not bothered with a dress.

  “Are you going to show me the paintings?” she asked, turning her eyes from him.

  He missed them the moment they looked away, missed their weight upon him. “Is that what you want?”

  “I would like to see them, to see where you come from. I know I was in this room years ago, but I was much more interested in how to slide along the floors than on what hung on the walls—except there was one of a woman in a red silk gown. Jasmine said she’d been a princess and we always dreamed about being her. Her dress was so beautiful, her pearls so wondrous. It’s only in the last day as I’ve worn Prudence’s dresses that I’ve realized just how uncomfortable she must have been.”

  “I believe you mean my great-great-grandmother. She was an Italian princess. As a young man the duke became infatuated with her and refused to give her up. I’ve always been told it’s why my skin darkens so unfashionably. The family found her quite scandalous, although I never heard of her doing anything wrong. I believe we still have the pearls. Perhaps you can wear them sometime.” And nothing else—but he did not let that thought past his lips, although it formed quite a pretty picture in his mind. Sin’s velvet skin and the Morisini pearls. That would be quite a picture.

  “Will you show her to me? I don’t remember exactly where she is.”

  “She’s along this way, next to the duke, her husband.” He held out his arm to her, and Sin’s fingers curled about it. He held the candle with his other hand. They walked down the long room as proper as any couple strolling the streets of Mayfair—except for their dress. He’d never walked barefoot in Mayfair, but his boots would have made far too much noise on the wood floors of the gallery.

  They came to the painting and, James holding up the candle, examined it together. The dark woman in the deep red dress, her eyes somber and not even the hint of a smile on her mouth. A small dog curled in her skirts.

  “Was she a papist?” Sin asked. “She must have been if she was Italian.”

  “It was never talked about. I know that her sons were baptized in the Church of England. I know the second son became a bishop somewhere up north—a fate I am glad I was spared. But you are correct that she must have started out Catholic. It may be why she was always considered scandalous.”

  “But beautiful. You can see why a duke would wish to wed her.”

  “He wasn’t yet duke when it happened.”

  She looked at him. “And that matters.”

  “It might. Langdon will occasionally play at doing the outlandish, but I think it is because he knows the weight of responsibility that is coming his way. Once a man becomes the Duke of Scarlett the title takes over.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way.” She turned, dropped his arm, and stared back at the painting. “And she became a duchess. Jasmine and I always wondered why she looked so serious. Perhaps that is why.”

  “It might also be that she lost five children at birth.”

  “Five?” Sin’s voice quavered. Her hands moved toward her stomach, but then she dropped them to her sides.

  What had he been thinking to say such a thing? He hadn’t been. It was all too clear where Sin’s thoughts had wandered. “She had already had the two boys, so perhaps she took comfort in that.”

  “Do you think so?” Her eyes stayed locked on the princess’s face.

  “I don’t know.” He wanted to lie, but the honest words slipped between his lips.

  “I don’t think there is any consolation for it; a child is a child.”

  “But if they never draw breath…”

  “Don’t say such a thing.” Sin stalked and stared at another painting, although it was impossible for her to be seeing much without the light of the candle.

  He had to find something to say. “You’re looking at the fifth duke.” He walked over and raised the candle high.

  “Is that who he is? Jasmine was never sure, so we called him the prune. Why would anybody have a formal portrait painted at that age? We couldn’t find any other paintings that looked like him.”

  The man in the painting did appear remarkably like a prune, a prune done up in silks and stiff satins, his neck seeping about the high, starched collar. “I believe the only other painting he’s in is this one.” He placed a hand upon Sin’s warm waist and directed her over. “He’s the little boy in the rose-colored silk.”

  “He was ra
ther cute. But that still doesn’t explain why he waited to old age to have his portrait painted.”

  “Ah, that is easy. He did not become duke until he was well into his nineties. His brother”—he pointed to another boy, dressed all in primrose—“was the heir. He never fathered a child, but he lived to a ripe old age.”

  Sin’s face focused on the prune. “How long was he the duke?”

  “I believe only for a few years.”

  She turned to him. “I don’t know how you remember all of it, all of them.” She gestured at the long line of paintings.

  “I don’t know, but it’s never been a problem to remember. I spent many long afternoons here in my youth. I suppose I wanted to know who they were, where I came from.”

  —

  Looking down the long line of portraits, Cynthia could see exactly where he’d come from, every male face reflected that look of command, that expectation of being obeyed. And was her family any different? Her father might be an earl, not a duke, but he, too, expected that all his directives would be followed—not that she’d ever been good at being obedient.

  So why was she so upset now? Why could she not simply do what was expected now?

  James moved nearer to her, but she stepped away, putting space between them. “Why did you choose to meet here?” she asked. “It seems a strange place for a seduction.”

  “And you think I planned a seduction?”

  She turned to him, but kept that space between them. Not a word passed her lips. She let her expression say it all.

  He glared a moment and then smiled. “I admit I may have had some thoughts and it was not this room I was thinking of.”

  “Then why direct me here?” She turned away again, confused by her own feelings. How could she feel so many things at the same time? She wanted him. She didn’t want to want him. She didn’t like him. She wanted to comfort him. She was infuriated by a callous comment. She wanted to know his every thought. Her mind was veritable cyclone of emotion.

  “I couldn’t tell you to go where I actually wanted you.” He took a step away from her, his hand rising to slide over the wood paneling.