Return to the House of Sin

by Anabelle Bryant

  Please, not the pelisse episode all over again. She couldn’t bear it.

  With a deep breath, she unravelled her skirts and tucked her clasped hands behind her back, to hide the hole in her sleeve. How any discussion about buttons could take longer than a few minutes confounded her, but she had no choice other than to wait.

  An unexpected prickle of unease tiptoed up her spine. She looked down at her clothing. Were her skirts hitched above her ankles? Hems wet? No, that wasn’t it. She returned her eyes to the roadway with a clear view to the other side and Crispin Daventry materialized, his unmistakable attention focused on her alone.

  She might have stared for ever, riveted by his enigmatic pull, but an oversized barouche paired with a team of feisty horses rumbled down the thoroughfare and it was as though their hooves thundered through her heart for how hard her pulse kicked up. If she wasn’t nervous before, and she was, the perverse affliction gripped her now.

  Why did the man unsettle her so? And why, at this moment, when Aunt Matilda might emerge from the dressmaker’s to complicate things? Worse, she might involve Crispin in a button debate. Could anything be more humiliating?

  As if the heavens heard her quandary, that same impertinent barouche reversed direction with the reckless cattle in rebellion of their master’s whip. It started down the roadway freckled with muddy puddles she’d avoided with care when she’d disembarked earlier. With a lack of prompt attention she’d later blame on Crispin’s handsomeness, she cross-stepped too quickly and snagged her skirts again, which placed her in a direct line with the reckless team of roans. Pure panic, shot through with a heavy dose of fear, gripped her. With Aunt Matilda’s carriage at her back and the enormous horses bearing down, she had no safe haven. She twisted and placed her gloves at the door latch with a frantic bid to open it, but, due to their trembling, she failed.

  She might have fainted right there in the roadway when, all of a sudden, she was buffeted with a strong wall of protection. The tremendous shudder of the unruly horses and carriage swept past, whipping dust and whisking disaster as if they hadn’t just cost her years from her life in fright. She remained motionless, unable to move, her heart pounding as a spiral of seductive laughter curled inside her ear.

  ‘You do find the most interesting predicaments.’

  She detected a note of tenderness in the words and the warmth of his breath teased her temple, his voice swirling through her as powerful as the aftermath of the uncontrolled team. She took a deep breath in hope of dispelling the quiver of her soul, but instead was filled with the scent of his shaving soap, an immediate and powerful reminder of their time aboard ship. Her knees threatened to buckle. She couldn’t bear the thought.

  Intent on an effort of fortitude, she tipped her head to the right, unwittingly bringing her mouth closer to his. They remained that way for an extra beat, but then he stepped away sooner than she anticipated. Sooner than she would have liked. She turned to face him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He sounded out of breath or filled with outrage. She couldn’t tell which. Perhaps he merely held back additional laughter.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Her voice sounded defeated and she jutted out her chin in resistance.

  She’d been proud of her recovery until she realized she’d placed herself in a position to be trampled to death. Crispin had saved her. Again. She had no words for her gratitude.

  Now, beneath the heat of his attention, she noticed the differences in his appearance. He’d cut his hair, the golden locks trimmed to allow a slight wave and nothing more, the length appropriately left at the collar. His clothes represented traditional town fashion, his waistcoat embroidered with a green thread the same colour as her eyes. His shoulders seemed broader than she remembered, or mayhap he stood too close. She gave her head a little shake.

  ‘That wasn’t your fault,’ he asserted, though she was too fascinated how he seemingly read her thoughts. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about the rest of you. If you have any hope of salvaging your clothing, we’ll need to get you out of that gown as soon as possible.’

  Said in his deep timbre, she could almost imagine he wasn’t discussing her crumpled skirts. Her cheeks heated, the crimson hue sure to advertise her mortification. Still, she appreciated his liberal use of the word we’ll. At least he’d included her in the plan.

  And then, because fate had a wicked sense of humour, Aunt Matilda burst from the modiste, her appalled expression a banner of embarrassment.

  ‘What has happened, dearest? I leave you for a few minutes and find you wrinkled beyond repair, calf-eyed, and quiet as a mouse.’

  Crispin cleared his throat at the final word and Amanda fought a smile. He’d called her a mouse, hadn’t he? Why did it seem their journey across the ocean happened a hundred years ago?

  ‘Back into Madame Monique’s with one of the day gowns we just purchased.’ She waved at the footman, who began to unstrap the boxes he’d fastened only moments before. ‘I’ll keep the charming Lord Hastings in conversation while you change.’ And then she leaned over with a conspiratorial whisper, mindful to relay her secret for Amanda’s ears only. ‘Don’t fret a minute. I won’t let your gentleman slip away.’

  Peculiar, how he’d visited the tailor, completed his last errand, and glanced across the roadway to see the one woman who wouldn’t allow him clear thinking. It was more than a mild nuisance or curiosity. More than lingering unfinished business from the ship.

  He’d kissed her twice. That was all. Their conversations enjoyable. Yet for some reason he could not label, his thoughts stayed with Amanda. And when he’d realized the dangerous scene unfolding before him, he considered nothing of his own safety, sprinting into the thoroughfare to flatten all those lush curves against the wall of the carriage and the beat of his heart.

  At least, she was also affected. He sensed the moment she realized it was he. And his body, with its reckless, visceral reaction to her nearness, caused his control to slip another notch. He had to bite his tongue not to sneak a taste of skin, her nape exposed beneath his mouth and incredibly tempting at that.

  Bloody hell, he didn’t want to feel affection. He’d worked at hardening his heart the entire time he was away. Still, something about Amanda called to him and his groin answered before his brain.

  This morning, like the last several, he’d awoken with her image in mind, no doubt a vestige from his dreams. Amanda in his quarters on the ship, her braid untidy and damp. He wanted to yank out the ribbon, thread his fingers through the lengths and unlace her clothing so he could devour her once and for all. Similar memories recurred with no prudence. Amanda curled on his cot, her delicate features in repose as she slept. Amanda’s laughter when she bested him at a hand of cards. Her serious beauty as they said farewell. He’d taken to pleasuring himself to alleviate the want, yet for no reason he could determine, desire grew stronger.

  It could only be she served as a well-needed distraction. A safe haven in the storm as he returned to London to resolve his unfinished business. At least, that’s the lie he chose to believe.

  Now he demanded his body obey. When she’d remained pressed against his chest, her head turned and mouth only a breath away, he’d needed every shred of control not to dip down and taste her lips.

  ‘Lord Hastings?’

  Aunt Matilda’s voice sliced through the muzzy fog in his brain. ‘Yes. Pardon.’

  ‘While I’ll have you alone I hope to convince you of a clever plan I’ve concocted.’

  ‘A clever plan?’ He looked towards the shop’s door in wonder of when Amanda would emerge and save him from what promised to be an interesting conversation.

  ‘Yes. It shouldn’t prove an inconvenience.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Good heavens, daughter, let me have another look at you.’ Lord Beasley, Earl of Huntingdon, viewed Amanda over his spectacles with another assessing glance. ‘I haven’t slept well in weeks. It’s no small miracle you�
��re returned to me unscathed. Now that I’ve heard the whole of your confusion, it’s a wonder more people aren’t shipped off to places unknown. How dreadful for you. Come closer. I need another hug.’

  He made good on his promise and wrapped Amanda within his comforting arms. She couldn’t help but relish the feeling of being safely tucked back where she belonged. Even Raelyn seemed to have overcome her sadness, her smile returned and colour much better than that grey morning weeks ago when Amanda had unintentionally changed the course of all their lives.

  ‘It was an unbearable separation.’ Raelyn looped her arm with Amanda’s as soon as their father relinquished his embrace. ‘But a joyful reunion all the same. We should do something special to celebrate.’

  ‘Whatever you decide, let it not be ship travel,’ Amanda quickly added and they all shared a laugh.

  Father, Raelyn and Enid, their maid, had returned home late afternoon. Like clockwork a footman was dispatched to notify Aunt Matilda and Amanda. They hurried to the house on Wigmore and now sat reposed in the drawing room after a sumptuous dinner.

  ‘I suggest we take in a show tomorrow evening to celebrate your homecoming. Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice is playing at the Drury Lane Theatre. I’ve heard only good things about the company.’ Matilda clapped her hands with the suggestion, a gleam in her eye.

  ‘That sounds wonderful.’ Raelyn looked to Amanda, who nodded in approval.

  ‘You’ll need to go without me, I’m afraid.’ Huntingdon frowned as he answered. ‘I’ve so much correspondence left long overdue, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the play. With a footman or two and our private box, you should be well equipped for an enjoyable evening. I look forward to hearing all the details at breakfast.’

  ‘Why don’t you share the story of the gracious gesture which resulted in your secure return, Amanda?’ Aunt Matilda smiled in her direction. ‘I’m sure Huntingdon will want to thank Lord Hastings for his responsible courtesy.’

  ‘Hastings?’ Her father’s face grew pensive. Then his eyes narrowed and he slue his attention in Amanda’s direction. ‘Do you mean Baron Hastings’ son?’

  ‘Yes. I believe so.’ Amanda didn’t understand her father’s reaction. ‘Lord Hastings assisted me aboard the ship. He lent his protection, in a matter of speaking.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of this.’ The earl rose from his chair, the room fast to lose its jocular mood. ‘Hastings’ son, Crispin Daventry, is an irresponsible rascal. A neck-or-nothing youngblood who lost an enormous sum wagering away his future at some shady gaming establishment called the Underground.’

  ‘The Underworld. It’s called the Underworld,’ Aunt Matilda interjected with a mite too much enthusiasm.

  ‘What do you know of it, Matilda?’ Her father shook his head in frustration. ‘Hasn’t this house experienced enough disappointment and havey-cavey business when it comes to gambling?’ Although he didn’t voice the words, he settled his gaze upon Raelyn and they all followed suit.

  ‘It could be nothing more than ruthless rumours. The gossipmongers enjoy making sport at my expense and I’m sure there are others who fall victim.’ Amanda couldn’t help defending Crispin against her father’s immediate disapproval. ‘I suspect Lord Hastings is a good man, despite what may or may not have happened in his recent past.’

  ‘So, he’s bamboozled you.’ Father pivoted in her direction. ‘Charmed you with his dark eyes and cunning smile.’

  ‘He has light eyes. A spectacular blue, actually,’ Matilda added. ‘Besides, I’ve met Lord Hastings and he didn’t seem as you describe. Could it be Hastings has another son who goes by the same name?’

  ‘Rubbish, Matilda, and you know it. Daventry squandered a wasteful sum at the Underground, left a windmill dwindled to a nutshell, and fled London without a word to his family. They were beyond worry for several months, with no idea of his wellbeing. What kind of man does something so selfish?’

  ‘I left Italy and you had no idea where I’d gone.’ Amanda’s utterance seemed to placate her father’s temper somewhat.

  ‘That was purely accidental.’ Her father returned to his chair, dismissing the subject though his eyes remained sharp. ‘Let’s discard this conversation. It’s not proper for a roomful of ladies. I’ll send a note of acknowledgement to Baron Hastings in regard to his son and that will suffice. I see no reason to consort with Daventry or perpetuate a relationship I’d rather not foster.’ He sighed heavily as if relieved to abandon the subject. ‘We’ll not be keeping company with the likes of Crispin Daventry.’ He eyed Raelyn and Amanda before settling his gaze on Aunt Matilda. ‘Is that understood?’

  ‘You don’t need to warn me away from any gentleman interested in gambling.’ Raelyn shook her head with vigour.

  ‘Of course, Father,’ Amanda agreed just as readily. She’d told herself a thousand times Crispin’s kisses were better off left in her memory. She had the soiree to anticipate and her hope for an improved reputation among the social set. The last thing she needed was an association that would tarnish her golden moment. She did notice Aunt Matilda remained suspiciously quiet.

  Crispin removed the satinwood box from his desk drawer, retrieved the deck of cards and walked to the table where Ferris waited. He split the deck, shuffled and distributed two hands of Vingt-et-un with the speed and efficiency of a sharper.

  ‘What will you do now you’ve repaid your debt?’ Ferris peeled the corner of the cards upward and assessed their worth.

  ‘I’ll return to the Underworld and break their bank.’

  ‘From the looks of things, their bank is formidable.’ Ferris discarded and hooked his finger to indicate the need for another card. ‘Have you thought this through?’

  ‘Every night for nearly a year.’

  ‘And what is it you wish to prove?’ Ferris threw his cards face down on the table. ‘Let it go. Only trouble will come your way if you persist, amico mio.’

  ‘I’m careful, and know my goal.’ Crispin clenched his teeth. Or at least he had at one time.

  ‘My goal is to have an enjoyable holiday.’ Ferris collected the cards and dealt a new hand. ‘I’ve sent messages to acquaintances around the city. I know there’s many people you wish to see now you’ve returned and I don’t wish to get in your way.’

  ‘I’m aware you need no company. And you’re correct. I left unexpectedly and have returned in the same manner. I have a few responsibilities waiting for me.’

  Bootler entered. ‘I’ve had your phaeton readied, milord.’

  Crispin rose and tossed a pair of sixes to the tabletop. ‘And the first happens now. I need to see my parents. Bootler will have a horse saddled if you’d like to go out. Otherwise, my home is yours.’ He’d neglected his duties as host since they’d returned and intended to improve. Ferris had mentioned friends he wished to visit and places of interest he meant to explore. It was purely good luck Ferris had plans to pursue. Yet, while Crispin knew Ferris would have no trouble keeping busy, he also wanted to extend the same hospitality the count had offered in Venice. ‘Tomorrow let’s plan on Vauxhall. There’s enough entertainment on that parcel of land even for the likes of you.’

  ‘That sounds like a challenge.’ Ferris gathered the cards together in a stack. ‘Good luck with your family. I think this time you will need it.’

  Crispin hoped his friend was incorrect though he suspected the opposite to be true. Sophie’s reaction to his return had been emotional and conflicted. Despite his sister was relieved and elated to see him, she noted how much he’d altered his appearance and objected to most of those changes.

  Still, he’d taken her advice, recovered his fashionable clothing and had Bootler cut his hair. It wasn’t what was on the outside that mattered. His plans for redemption were better off hidden away. Why bring further attention to the task?

  Now, as he flicked the reins and rolled out of Bedford Square, his thoughts went to Amanda and their episode on Bond Street. Something about
the lady caused a lightness in his soul he had no way to explain. Would he for ever be her rescuer? He doubted it. Aside from a chance meeting at a societal affair, he likely wouldn’t see her again.

  The thought brought with it a beat of frustration, though he knew better to think in the long term. Emotion was complicated. He didn’t need affection and the responsibility of caring for Amanda when his most important goal waited within reach.

  Still, she’d looked adorable, clothing wrinkled and face flushed from her near miss on Bond Street. And Aunt Matilda. She was a force to be reckoned with beyond any reckless carriage. Her suggestion that he aid her with a secretive plan amused him.

  When Amanda had emerged from the modiste, hair pinned into place, a fresh day gown donned, the stylish cut as bold as the colour, he wondered how he would forget her or if he would have to for that matter. He found he enjoyed his nightly remembrances of their time aboard the galleon.

  Too soon he arrived at the mews behind his parents’ home and paused a moment to secure his composure. His parents were likely livid and he didn’t blame them. He should have sent word. Why hadn’t he? Too ashamed to admit his foolishness perhaps. It didn’t matter now. He tied the reins off, patted one of the greys as if to communicate the need for fortitude, and walked the gravel path to the front of the property. He took the steps and the door whipped open before he had the chance to drop the knocker.

  ‘Crispin.’ His mother’s tearful exclamation fractured his heart. He’d behaved terribly. ‘Come in.’ She began to weep and his spirits plummeted significantly. ‘It’s been an unbearable separation.’

  His father, Baron Hastings, appeared in the foyer and, before he could reply to his mother, had yanked him into a hearty embrace with several thumps upon his back.

  ‘You’re home.’

  His father’s voice cracked with a note of emotion, and the impact of how wretchedly his actions had caused his family suffering sunk lower still.