The beautiful charmer forgotten, he followed his secretary out into the chill night, fury and fear for his sister roiling inside him, along with a fierce craving for vengeance.
Chapter One
London, May 1810
Despite the lateness of the hour, the private gaming hell boasted a sizable crowd. Liquor flowed freely, the guests quaffing great quantities of claret and champagne along with a delicious late supper. Yet beneath the laughter and conversation, a serious undercurrent coursed through the gamesters and dandies and nobles playing deep at macao and hazard and faro.
From a discreet distance across the card room, Vanessa Wyndham watched her nemesis at the faro table. Even with her stomach tied in knots, she tried to study him with dispassion.
Lord Sin. The appellation seemed exceptionally appropriate. She could see no signs of dissolution on the ruthlessly handsome face, yet there was a wicked knowledge in those penetrating gray eyes that compelled attention.
Vanessa shook herself, aware she was guilty of staring. Yet Lord Sinclair was a captivating man, with his raven hair and chiseled, harshly beautiful features. His physical form matched his arresting, dark masculinity-tall, lithe, muscular, graceful. His exquisitely tailored black coat seemed to have been poured over his elegant shoulders.
She had come to London expressly to seek him out. To prevent him from destroying her family out of revenge.
Apparently she was not the only one whose interest was roused by the Baron Sinclair. Behind her, a whispered conversation between two ladies caught her ear.
“I see Damien is wreaking havoc at the gaming tables as usual.”
“I cannot comprehend why,” the second voice complained petulantly. “He’s rich as a nabob. He has no need to add to his fortune.”
The first woman laughed. “Come now, you are simply piqued because he has chosen to ignore you all evening. Confess, darling, if the irresistible Lord Sin were to beckon, you would swoon at his feet.”
Unwillingly Vanessa’s gaze strayed back to the notorious nobleman, as it had all evening. She could well understand why women found him fascinating. That combination of polished elegance and raw virility commanded notice, while his abundance of wicked charm presented an alluring danger to the female sex.
Vanessa shivered, despite the myriad candles blazing in crystal chandeliers that lent a welcome warmth to her bare shoulders. She’d worn the empire-waist gown of emerald satin even though it was three seasons out of date, hoping the low neckline might appeal to a rakehell of the baron’s stamp.
He was known as Lord Sin among the beau monde. Since the early days of her disastrous marriage, Vanessa had been aware of the infamous aristocrat. Although they’d never been formally introduced, they had once traveled in similar circles of society. Damien Sinclair was renowned for his scandalous conquests in the glittering ballrooms and bedrooms of Europe. It was said he took wickedness to new heights.
How could such a man be prevailed upon? How could she even summon the courage?
She’d had her fill of rakes. Her late husband had given her a disdain for profligates and libertines. Every feminine instinct warned her to keep her distance from the wicked Lord Sinclair. Yet she was desperate enough to approach him-this evening, if she could manage it.
“Will you call the turn, my lord?” the female dealer asked the baron.
A sudden hush settled over the card room.
Vanessa was familiar enough with the game of faro to know that to “call the turn” was to bet on the order in which the last three cards would be dealt from the box. The house held the bank, and the odds on the wager were five to one.
Lord Sinclair’s arresting features wore a casual, even slightly bored, expression as he predicted the order of the deal-deuce, six, queen-as if there were not a fortune at stake.
Vanessa held her breath along with the rest of the crowd as the dealer turned the cards over one by one… Deuce of spades. Six of clubs. Queen of hearts.
Lord Sinclair had just won twenty thousand pounds.
The tall gentleman standing beside him laughed richly and gave the baron a friendly slap on the back. “Stap me, Damien, I vow you have the devil’s own luck. I don’t suppose you would care to divulge your secret?”
A smile claimed the beautifully carved mouth. “No secret, Clune. My rule is always to bet on a lady. In this instance, the queen.”
Just then Lord Sinclair’s gaze lifted. To Vanessa’s shock, he looked across the room, directly at her. His eyes were the striking color of silver smoke-and just as heated. She felt the sizzle all the way down to her satin slippers.
Dismayed to discover herself trembling, Vanessa turned away and took a sip of wine to bolster her frayed nerves.
“Damn Aubrey…” she murmured under her breath. Her scapegrace brother had put her in an untenable position, gambling away their family home to that man. But she was determined to get it back.
She spent the next hour wandering the card room and keeping a wary eye on Lord Sinclair, debating whether to find someone to afford her an introduction, or to contrive some other means to speak to him. It would not do to appear too desperate. Nor would she care to evoke gossip by accosting him in front of an audience. It was rash enough to have come to a gaming hell alone, using her brother’s membership subscription to gain entrance. Despite the half-mask she wore to conceal her identity, there were several of her late husband’s cronies here tonight who would recognize her if she created a stir.
In the end she decided it better to make any meeting look like a chance encounter and then ask for a private word with him. She did not relish the role of supplicant, but there was nothing left but to throw herself on his mercy and hope that he had a shred of human decency left in his dissolute soul.
The hour was nearly three in the morning when her opportunity came. Lord Sinclair had collected his winnings and was preparing to depart the card room.
Suppressing a display of haste, Vanessa managed to reach the doorway before him and paused long enough to drop her lace handkerchief on the carpet. It was an obvious ploy to gain his attention, but she hoped he would be flattered enough to overlook her artifice.
Like a gentleman, he bent to retrieve the handkerchief and offered her a graceful bow. “I believe this is yours, madam?”
As he politely presented the article to her, his long fingers brushed hers, whether by accident or design she wasn’t certain. More startling than the warmth of his touch, though, was his glance. Penetrating her mask, his gaze connected with hers and held her captive.
For a moment, Vanessa stood frozen, staring up at him. The half-smile on his sensual lips held a measure of his famed charm, yet his face was alert, the gray eyes filled with a keen intelligence. It would never do to underestimate such a man, Vanessa warned herself.
She forced a smile of her own and murmured her appreciation as she accepted the handkerchief. “How careless of me,” she replied, withdrawing her hand.
His look held a hint of doubt, but he let the lie pass without challenge. “I regret that I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
“I am Vanessa Wyndham.”
He eyed her expectantly, as if her name didn’t strike any chords.
“I believe you knew my late husband, Sir Roger Wyndham.”
“Ah, yes. We were members of the same clubs.”
Roger had been killed in a duel over an opera dancer, but if Lord Sinclair knew of the scandal, he was too gallant- or too indifferent-to bring it up.
“So how may I serve you, Lady Wyndham?” When she remained mute, he added gently, “You obviously wish something from me.” His gaze was quizzical, probing, though his smile held a self-deprecating charm. “Forgive me, but I cannot fail to notice when a beautiful woman scrutinizes me all evening.”
Vanessa flushed at his forthrightness. Only a bold rogue would remark on a lady’s interest. “Truthfully…”
“Yes, let us be truthful by all means.” The lazy drawl held a hint of cynicism.
“Truthfully, I hoped I might speak to you on a matter of some urgency, my lord.”
“Consider me at your service.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall I escort you to your carriage?”
“If you would be so kind.”
She moved through the door ahead of him, and he fell into step beside her.
“I confess my curiosity is aroused,” he admitted as they moved down the hall toward the sweeping stairway. “Your examination of me all evening suggested interest, perhaps calculation, yet it was not flirtatious or coy or in the least amorous.”
“I fear I never mastered the art of coyness,” Vanessa replied rather tightly, annoyed that he’d managed to put her on the defensive so easily.
“Would you care, then, to tell me what engenders such seriousness?”
“Aubrey Trent, Lord Rutherford,” she said quietly, “is my brother.”
He came to an abrupt stop. The eyes he turned to her were suddenly a deep, storm-gray. There was no mistaking his anger.
His expression was potentially lethal, yet she held her ground. “If you please, I wish to discuss your wager with Aubrey.”
“Have you come to pay his debt?”
“Not… precisely.”
“Then what, precisely?”
Vanessa took a deep breath. Two nights ago, Lord Sinclair had challenged her brother at piquet. Aubrey had played recklessly and far too deep-and wound up losing his entire inheritance, including the Rutherford estates and the London town house, leaving nothing for his dependents to live on.
She herself was not especially daunted at the prospect of spending the rest of her life in genteel poverty; she’d endured worse. But she had her mother and sisters to consider. It was one thing to live with creditors nipping at your heels. It was quite another to be literally thrown out on the streets to starve.
“I’ve come on behalf of my family. I was hoping… you might consider, at least partially… forgiving Aubrey’s debt of honor.”
Sinclair stared at her. “Surely you jest.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I am entirely in earnest. He has two younger sisters to care for, you see. And a mother who is ailing.”
“I fail to understand how your family circumstances concern me, Lady Wyndham.”
“They don’t, I suppose. Except that in claiming the Rutherford estates, you will take away their only means of support.”
“That is indeed unfortunate.” His tone conveyed no remorse.
Disheartened, Vanessa made another attempt to plead her case. “My lord, my brother is no gamester. He had no right to gamble away our family home.”
“Then he ought not to have done so.”
“As I understand it, you left him little choice. Surely you don’t deny deliberately challenging him to cards?”
“I don’t deny it. He may count himself fortunate I didn’t follow my first impulse and put a bullet through him.”
Vanessa felt the color drain from her face. Sinclair was known to be a crack shot and an expert swordsman. He had fought two duels that she was aware of, and doubtless more that she wasn’t.
“I wonder that you didn’t,” she murmured.
His jaw hardened. “A duel would only have compounded the scandal to my sister.”
“I’m not aware of every particular,” Vanessa said in a low voice, “but I do know of your sister’s injury.”
“Then you know she was crippled, perhaps for life.”
“Yes. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Are you?” The terse question was cynical, even savage.
“Yes, as is my brother. Aubrey deeply regrets his actions toward your sister. They were cruel, unforgivable. The behavior of a spoiled, thoughtless youth.” When Lord Sinclair made no reply, Vanessa gave him a beseeching look. “I well know how selfish my brother can be. He’s young and a trifle wild. Surely a man of your reputation can understand that. Rumor has it that you’ve indulged in your fair share of wildness.”
“My character is not at issue here.”
“No, but… I entreat you to reconsider. My brother is a mere boy.”
“Obviously. A man would not send his sister to beg in his place.”
She started to protest that Aubrey had not sent her, but that wasn’t quite true. Certainly he hadn’t objected when she declared her intent to seek out Lord Sin.
Vanessa placed an imploring hand on the nobleman’s sleeve. “My lord, have you no mercy? No compassion at all?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Your brother is not deserving of compassion. He destroyed something precious of mine. And I intend to destroy him in turn.”
The declaration was cold, ruthless, implacable.
He glanced dismissively down at the slender hand that detained him. “My carriage awaits, Lady Wyndham. It is not my practice to keep my horses standing.”
Deliberately he stepped back. Then he turned away, leaving Vanessa to stare after his retreating back in dismay and despair.
Vanessa fiercely fought back tears as she entered the London town house that had been in her family for four generations. She had seldom cried during the unsavory period of her life when she was wed to a notorious libertine, or in the two difficult years following Sir Roger Wyndham’s death-and she would not cry now.
A hollowness in her heart, she climbed the stairs to the drawing room. Her brother had opened the London house for the Season, even though he could ill afford it.
Aubrey was waiting for her in the drawing room, anxiously pacing the carpet. For a moment Vanessa watched him, wondering how the loving boy she remembered from childhood had turned out so wild. But she knew the answer. The favorite and only son, he had been raised in unchecked license by parents who coddled and indulged him. The lack of discipline would doubtless prove his ruin.
“Well?” Aubrey asked the instant he spied her. “Did you see him?”
Aubrey was tall like herself and possessed similar coloring. His tawny, light brown hair was almost a shade of amber, while his dark eyes were luminous and could sparkle with laughter. Just now they held only anxiety.
“I contrived a meeting with Lord Sinclair, yes,” Vanessa replied, coming into the room. “He refused to speak to me once he discovered my connection to you.”
“Then I am lost,” Aubrey said hoarsely.
She wanted to dispute him. She wanted to console him, to wrap her arms around her brother and make his troubles vanish. But he was right. Indeed, they were all lost. She sat down heavily on the blue brocade settee.
Aubrey flung himself into the wing chair beside her and buried his face in his hands. After a long moment, he asked quietly, “He refused even to negotiate?”
“We didn’t reach the point of discussing negotiations. He wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Damn and blast him…”
Not for the first time, Vanessa felt a surge of anger at her brother’s childish effort to shift the blame. “You can hardly expect Lord Sinclair to return the estates you gambled away so recklessly, simply because a stranger asked it of him.”
“He means to ruin me.”
“Can you blame him? His sister suffered a debilitating injury… at your hands, I might add. She may never walk again. Or have you so conveniently forgotten that small particular?”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Aubrey’s hands clenched in his hair. “Don’t you think I regret every moment of my foolish conduct?”
“What could possibly have possessed you to be so cruel to a young girl?”
“I don’t know.” When he raised his head, his dark eyes held grief and remorse. “It started merely as a lark, a wager. A means to earn a substantial sum from my gaming friends. With my pockets to let, I needed the funds. And perhaps we were a trifle…”
“Were what?”
“Bored.”
“Hunting in the country didn’t provide you enough pleasure? Cockfights and boxing matches weren’t sufficient entertainment?” Vanessa’s tone held a hard edge of ridicule. “So you had
to ruin a young girl’s life. Destroy her reputation and make her a bedridden cripple.”
Aubrey’s grimace displayed agony. “I never intended it to go that far, you must believe me.”
“Then what did you intend?”
He took a deep breath. “I told you, to win a wager, simply that. When we met Miss Sinclair at an assembly… I suppose we’d all had too much claret before arriving. At first the discussion centered on how to get her away from her dragon of a chaperon, but somehow the goal turned more serious. I ended up wagering I could make her fall in love with me. Wooing her proved… far easier than I expected.” He hung his head. “Olivia had led such a sheltered life, she was eager for… affection.”
“So after some weeks of clandestine meetings, you lured Miss Sinclair to a posting inn with the promise of an elopement. You never intended an honorable marriage at all?”
“It would not have mattered how honorable my intentions. I could never have afforded to wed her, even had I wished to. She’s an heiress, but she won’t come into her fortune for three more years. Sinclair would cut her off without a penny if she wed without his permission.”
To his credit, Aubrey’s expression held shame. Vanessa sighed. She well knew how he chafed at his financial state.
But there was little point in bemoaning his lack of wealth, for it was a family failing.
Their father had been a poor manager with no head for business. Hoping his eldest daughter could repair the family fortunes by making a grand match, he’d convinced Vanessa to wed a young baronet who had squandered his vast inheritance and been killed in a senseless duel within the year. Upon her father’s death in a riding accident shortly afterward, Vanessa had willingly escaped London and returned home to live with her family.
She’d spent the two years since managing the household and attempting to persuade her ailing mother and two younger sisters to live within their humble means. Aubrey, however, was the chief problem, demanding funds to support his pleasures and depleting his remaining income on gaming and wenching.
But if they were deep in dun territory before, their situation was now dire.
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