Lord of Sin

by Susan Krinard

  Achilles was the first to break the stunned silence. “My dear Lady Charles,” he said, “I am certain that Lord Donnington will welcome such a charming addition to our little gathering, as will the rest of us.”

  Still no one else spoke, though Waybury was clearly scandalized and even Breakspear wore a frown. There were scarcely words enough to describe the social conventions the lady had broken by coming alone to a bachelor’s country establishment in such a fashion, without showing even so much as the courtesy of waiting to be invited.

  “Lady Charles,” Sinjin said in his iciest tone, “it is a pity I was unaware of your intention to visit Donbridge. You find me quite unprepared to provide the hospitality a lady such as yourself deserves.”

  The insult did not go unnoticed. Reddick made a faint sound of protest. Ferrer snickered. Felix started from his paralysis and spoke with scarcely a glance at Sinjin.

  “Lady Charles,” he said, “you must be tired from your ride. Would you care to be seated?”

  Everyone looked at Sinjin, who had every right to be incensed at the boy’s usurpation of his privileges as host. But he recognized that the battle was at least temporarily lost.

  “By all means, Lady Charles. Pray make yourself comfortable.” He turned to Hedley, who remained as frozen as the rest. “Kindly see to suitable refreshments, Hedley.”

  The butler bowed and hastily exited the drawing room. Sinjin’s words freed the others; several moved generally in Lady Charles’s direction, awaiting introductions. Nash—who had little regard for the niceties of protocol—already seemed overly attentive to the female intruder. Melbyrne’s face had regained its color. Even without a supportive word from Lady Charles, he’d already surmised that he’d acquired an ally.

  But there would be no further pleasantries beyond introductions, no encouragement to support Felix’s rebellion or Nuala’s outrageous behavior. The very fact that the woman had dared to come to Donbridge at all had temporarily set Sinjin back on his heels, but no longer.

  Lady Charles was perfectly charming as Sinjin did his duty, expressing her pleasure at meeting each of the gentlemen, though Waybury was still a bit stiff with disapproval. But Breakspear continued to give Sinjin probing looks…and in light of what Lord Peter had said of recent gossip, Sinjin knew that his own reputation as one of the Forties was in very grave danger.

  So was Lady Orwell’s, but in an entirely different manner. Her actions would almost certainly be judged “fast” by sticklers in Society, and it would take only a casual word from one of the Forties to make those actions known. As a widow, she was granted more latitude than an unmarried girl, but she was herself young and childless.

  Lord Donnington was the last person she ought to be visiting alone. And she must know it.

  Deliberately Sinjin went to Mrs. Tissier, took her hand and led her to Nuala.

  “Lady Charles,” he said, “May I present Mrs. Jennie Tissier.”

  Jennie blanched a little. Very little could faze her, but a formal introduction between a lady and a courtesan was simply not done. Reddick murmured another belated protest, and Jennie clutched at her skirts.

  Nuala must have heard of Mrs. Tissier; she must have known that the woman lived beyond the pale of polite society. Had she acted in her own best interest, she would have returned a cool nod and walked away, as any true lady would. Instead, she offered her hand.

  “Mrs. Tissier,” she said.

  With a smile of rare humility, Jennie took Nuala’s hand. The contact was brief, but telling. Since Lady Charles’s arrival, the Forties would have been madly speculating on the nature of her relationship to Sinjin. Now that she had shown a willingness to associate with a known courtesan, her intention in coming to Donbridge alone must be clear.

  If it were too late, as it surely was, to convince the Forties that he and Lady Charles were no more than acquaintances, Sinjin still had the means of protecting himself…and driving Nuala away once and for all.

  While general talk continued, Mrs. Tissier retreated into another room and the Forties hovered about Lady Charles in a haze of uncertainty. Her presence suppressed the usual blunt conversation of men safe from the constraints of “good” female society, but her ambiguous position gave her an aura of fascination that brought Waybury under her thrall.

  Magic. Just as she had done to Sinjin his dreams, she was working her spell on men who should have been wholly immune. If they regarded her as fair game…

  Sinjin was alternately tempted to scatter the men with a roar or wring Lady Charles’s slender neck. He was considering how best to get her alone without engendering more mistaken assumptions when Nash solved his dilemma with a suggestion of his own.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you gents,” he said, drawing the men’s attention, “but I’m up for a good ride. What is the point of rustication without a show of horsemanship?”

  The Forties exchanged glances. It was late afternoon, several hours before dinner, and the conversation had dwindled to stilted discussions of the weather.

  “I think that an excellent idea,” Sinjin said. “Would you care to join us, Lady Charles? Or are you too fatigued by your journey from London?”

  In answer, Nuala rose and brushed out her skirts. “To the contrary, Lord Donnington. I should be perfectly happy to join you.”

  “Then, unless you have brought your habit, I am certain that Mrs. Tissier will be delighted to lend you hers.”

  The Forties held their collective breath, but Nuala merely inclined her head.

  “If Mrs. Tissier agrees, I shall be glad to accept the loan.”

  A sigh swept through the room. Sinjin imagined that it was made up partly of approval for Lady Charles’s broadmindedness, and renewed interest in the increasingly likely prospect that she was indicating her availability for certain pleasurable connections.

  Whatever their thoughts, the Forties threw themselves enthusiastically into the promise of a ride, retiring to their rooms to change. Melbyrne was nearly bouncing with renewed energy. Sinjin knew there would be no chance to confront Nuala before the outing, but that wasn’t necessary. The ride itself would provide the opportunity.

  As expected, Mrs. Tissier declined to join the others and freely offered the use of her habit. Though she was a little taller than Nuala, the habit proved a surprisingly good fit, as Sinjin had cause to notice when Lady Charles emerged from the room hastily prepared for her in the wing opposite that inhabited by the Forties.

  The men had loosened up considerably now that a certain informality had been established, and there were jests and a few indiscreet comments flung about the stable while the horses were assigned. Sinjin had no notion of the extent of Nuala’s riding abilities; he instructed the head groom to provide Nuala with a sedate mare who would never throw her or balk at a reasonable jump. He didn’t want Nuala discomposed in any way. He wanted her fresh and alert when he faced her down, under no disadvantage when he finally defeated her.

  Nuala proved herself to be an excellent horsewoman. She rode with back erect, her hands light on the reins. It seemed at first that she would resist any attempt he made at separating her from the rest. But she provided the opportunity herself. After an hour of riding, when her attentive escorts were distracted by a particularly fine view of the river Ouse, Nuala abruptly turned her mount away from the others at a fast clip.

  Sinjin was close behind her. She made no attempt to escape him; once they were beyond the view of the Forties, she slowed and allowed him to catch her up. He reined Shaitan to a halt in a copse of hazel, prepared to help her dismount. She was already down before he could take two steps in her direction.

  Her hair had come partly undone, ginger strands flowing around her face. Her posture was as bold as it had been in the house, but there was a vulnerability in her face that momentarily caused him to hesitate in his attack.

  “How dare you come here,” he said softly.

  Her breast rose as she drew in a breath. “How dare you take Melbyrne
away?”

  They stared at each other. Sinjin’s cock, which had relaxed during the ride, was at full attention again, and he despised his loss of control.

  Flames curled around her like a lover’s fingers….

  “Since you are here,” he said harshly, “would you care to see Giles’s grave?”

  Her cheeks turned paper white. She closed her eyes and took a half step sideways, as if she might fall. Sinjin closed the gap between them and caught her arm. Fire licked at his palm.

  “Sit,” he commanded, throwing his riding coat on the ground. She was stubborn; she didn’t give way until he compelled her.

  He released her arm as soon as he could safely do so. An apology hovered on his tongue, but he swallowed it. He owed her no such consideration. Yet he knew by her trembling that she did had not come to Donbridge without great trepidation, for all her boldness. She did not wish to be here at all.

  “It won’t work,” he said, setting a careful distance between them again.

  She seemed to recover a little, the color slowly seeping back into her cheeks. “Are you so certain that your scheme will?”

  “I have no scheme.”

  “You stole Mr. Melbyrne away just to keep him from spending time with Lady Orwell.”

  There would have been no purpose in denial even if he had felt inclined to offer one. “I did as I thought best.”

  “Then you do believe I am a liar.”

  “I believe you will do whatever you can to encourage Lady Orwell.”

  The mist-gray eyes held his, warming with anger. “It was as I told you. I did not and will not use magic in this matter.”

  “Perhaps you can’t help yourself.”

  She gathered her feet beneath her and tried to stand, her legs becoming tangled in her skirts. It was more than habit to assist her, to take her arm again and let her lean upon it until she was on her feet.

  This time she was the one to shake him off. “I am in perfect command of myself,” she said. “But I will not allow you to hurt Deborah by manipulating Felix to satisfy your own need to hurt me.” She searched his eyes. “Can you deny that that is your true motive, Lord Donnington? Or is it indeed a matter of power over those weaker than yourself? It is either one or the other, for you certainly do not have Mr. Melbyrne’s best interests at heart.”

  Her words should have been no more than the bites of midges, minor irritations at best, and yet they burned like a hornet’s sting. “You know nothing of Melbyrne’s best interests,” he snapped.

  “I know more than a man who refuses to see what is before him…or chooses to ignore it entirely.”

  The danger was very evident to Sinjin then. If he let Nuala win even the tiniest of victories now, she would see his weakness and go in for the kill. Melbyrne would be lost to her machinations, and he…

  Open thighs and outstretched arms. Devil’s curses hidden behind smiling lips. A woman’s fair shape concealing corruption that could suck a man’s soul into Hell.

  “I see what is before me,” he said, half-blinded by the visions of terror and lust. “Get thee gone, witch!”

  She flinched, her mouth opening on a gasp of shock. He touched his own throat as if he might catch the words and destroy them before they could be spoken.

  For they had not been his words. The voice had not been his voice. It was the one from the dream, harsh and full of rage. Of hate.

  Sinjin pushed his palms into his forehead. Sparks and streaks of red danced behind his eyelids.

  “Is that how it is to be?”

  So soft, her voice. So steady, as if she hadn’t glimpsed what smoldered within his heart.

  He opened his eyes. Though nothing in her appearance had changed, he could feel the armor she had wrapped around herself. For all the bitter words between them, these had been different. Deadly in some way he couldn’t comprehend.

  What the hell had come over him?

  “Is it a war you want?” she asked in that same, almost gentle voice. “I would never have chosen it, Sinjin. I had hoped for your forgiveness, as I had hoped one day to forgive myself. But I see that is impossible.” Her modest height seemed to grow, until she stood as nearly as tall as Sinjin himself. “By what rules shall we abide? How shall we decide the winner?”

  As if it were all a game to her. As if the lives she’d trifled with were merely pawns on a chessboard.

  “War,” he said, though his throat still rasped with the acid of that other voice. “You will lose, Nuala.”

  “Perhaps. But I will do so knowing that I have done all I can to stop a blackguard who’d rather see his friend destroyed than let him fall in love.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  WITHOUT A THOUGHT, without so much as a breath of hesitation, Sinjin strode to her and grabbed her arms. She had no chance to struggle. He brought his mouth down on hers without any concession to gentleness, and felt her lips part on a cry she never made.

  Heaven. And Hell. Both all at once, the feel of her in his arms and the desire that ate at him from within. He backed her up against a small oak, spearing his fingers through her hair until it came undone and splashed around her shoulders.

  Not once did she fight him. He was so lost that he didn’t care what she thought or what she wanted. He simply took, and if her mouth softened under his for a fraction of a second, it was unyielding again by the time he came back to himself.

  He released her and staggered away. She remained where she was, her back against the tree and her arms still at her sides. His vision cleared enough to see that she had tears in her eyes.

  Tears he’d put there with his savagery. Never in his life had he taken something a woman wasn’t willing to give. He had launched the first attack in the war, abusing her with his greater strength and contemptible lack of self-control.

  “Nuala,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean—”

  But she was already striding away. He didn’t follow to beg forgiveness. She wouldn’t want to hear it, even if he were capable of speech.

  He never learned how she’d managed to mount her horse without assistance. When he found Shaitan, she was gone. He sat in the saddle, his fists gripping the reins, and fought to regain his composure before the others could guess how badly he’d betrayed his own principles.

  The sound of muffled hoofbeats roused him from his dark thoughts. His heart gave a jagged lurch, and he turned Shaitan to meet the rider.

  Melbyrne drew his mount to a stop and stared at Sinjin, his mouth drawn down in a rare frown.

  “I saw Lady Charles,” he said. “What have you done, Sin?”

  “Melbyrne, it isn’t what you—”

  The boy pulled on the reins and spun the bay around, tearing off toward the house at a gallop. Sinjin hesitated a few moments longer and followed. He reached Donbridge after the others had already left their horses with the stable hands. A brief inquiry at the carriage house assured him that Lady Charles had abandoned the premises.

  When Sinjin entered the house, the men were still in their rooms changing for dinner. Felix was nowhere to be found.

  “Melbyrne?” Ferrer said as he met Sinjin at the foot of the staircase. “Haven’t seen him since we got back. Why? Have you lost him?”

  The man’s tone grated on Sinjin. “I am not his keeper,” he snapped.

  “He needs one, if what I hear is true. And you, Donnington…what goes on between you and that toothsome little piece Lady Charles?” His lips curled in a sneer. “You were gone off together a rather long time.”

  “Nothing happened, Ferrer.”

  “Pity. I would have been happy to keep the lady company. Nothing like a fast ride on an eager filly to—”

  He gave a grunt of surprise as Sinjin’s punch connected with his jaw and he sailed to the floor. Sinjin rubbed his knuckles, wishing that Ferrer would get up and offer him another chance.

  “I say, what’s all this?” Reddick said from the top of the stairs.

  Mrs. Tissier joined him, and soon all the F
orties were crowded at the landing. Ferrer picked himself up, the sneer replaced with a look of angry calculation. He felt his jaw and smeared the blood on his lower lip.

  “Well, well,” he said. “How very gallant of you to defend the lady’s honor.”

  Sinjin flexed his fingers. “You won’t speak of her again, Ferrer.”

  “Shall I assume that Adele is now at liberty?”

  He flinched a little as Sinjin offered a view of his fist. “You may assume that I will be prepared to continue our conversation at any time you choose,” Sinjin said.

  Ferrer barked a laugh. “Listen to him, chaps. When may we expect the happy event, Donnington?”

  The fire in Sinjin’s dreams was no hotter than his face. “I would not advise that you wait for it at Donbridge,” he said.

  “Then I shall be going,” Ferrer said, brushing off his trousers. He glared up at the others and charged up the stairs.

  “One more thing,” Sinjin called after him. “I should be very sorry to hear that you have spread scurrilous rumors about Lady Charles’s visit to Donbridge.”

  Ferrer paused, his hand gripping the banister. “They would hardly be rumors.”

  “It would be unwise to mention it, nevertheless.”

  Ferrer’s gaze swept the observers on the landing. “Don’t make the mistake of blaming me if such tattle spreads,” he said. “I have no control over the behavior of your new conquest.” He pushed his way past the Forties and strode out of sight.

  Mrs. Tissier and the men were silent, waiting for Sinjin’s next move…a general warning to all of them, perhaps, or a blustered explanation.

  Sinjin gave them neither. “Shall we go in to dinner, Mrs. Tissier? Gentlemen?”

  Glances were exchanged, and someone coughed. No one offered a single comment as Sinjin gave Mrs. Tissier his arm and the Forties proceeded into the dining room.

  The mood gradually relaxed, and conversation settled into the somewhat ribald tone typical of the club’s gatherings. Mrs. Tissier was as active in the exchanges as any of the men, though she occasionally glanced toward the door as if she wondered where Melbyrne had gone. Ferrer left without fanfare, his departure briefly noted by Hedley as the dessert course was served.