Sinful in Satin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Epilogue

  Dangerous in Diamonds

  “Hunter hooks you with exquisite prose and masterful storytelling.”

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick)

  “Richly spiced with wicked wit and masterfully threaded with danger and desire, the superbly sexy first book in Hunter’s new Regency historical quartet is irresistible and wonderfully entertaining.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  The Forbidden Kiss . . .

  He kissed her before she could respond. Before she could put him in his place. She fought mightily to permit that kiss to have no effect on her. Her thoughts scrambled as the sensations swept her body and the secret regret burst out of her heart, together threatening to drown all good sense and rational, practical resolve.

  We must not. It will ruin everything. Ruin me, I fear, far worse than going to Anthony ever would. Did she say it, amid the short gasps she made while his mouth burned her neck? She could not tell. He did not act as if he heard. Or else he did not care.

  Always make them ask, Celia. Even with the first kiss. This man was asking permission for nothing. He never had.

  His embrace felt too good. Too welcome. His strength proved too exciting. She had not chosen to succumb to this desire they felt for each other, but she could not resist either. His fire began consuming her will, much as the flames had that paper.

  Jove titles by Madeline Hunter

  RAVISHING IN RED

  PROVOCATIVE IN PEARLS

  SINFUL IN SATIN

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not have any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  SINFUL IN SATIN

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove mass-market edition / October 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Madeline Hunter.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  eISBN : 978-1-101-44362-0

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  Chapter One

  The funeral of a whore will be sparsely attended, no matter how celebrated and noble the whore’s patrons might have been.

  Celia Pennifold was therefore not surprised by the dearth of mourners at the funeral of her mother, Alessandra Northrope. Mostly women came, turned out in expensive black bombazine ensembles that would be discarded by day’s end. Courtesans all, they knew that Alessandra would not expect them to wear mourning clothes longer than a few hours. There were protectors awaiting their company, after all.

  A few men were present too. Five young bloods hung in the background. From their disrespectful grins and jostling, Celia could see that four of them thought it a great joke to be here. The fifth, however, appeared to truly grieve for the beautiful, fascinating woman in the coffin.

  Alessandra had often received declarations of love along with generous gifts. She had been kind enough not to let those profoundly moved gentlemen know that she had herself outgrown the need to cloak what she did in sentiment.

  That was one thing that could be said about this particular whore, Celia thought. Dukes might write poems to her and swains might sing songs to her, but Alessandra Northrope had always known exactly who and what she was.

  Would that she had allowed her daughter the same secure knowledge of self.

  “Five carriages,” her friend Daphne’s voice whispered. The observation flowed below the droning prayer of the vicar. “I wonder who they are.”

  Celia had noticed each carriage arrive. Hired and anonymous, their drawn blinds shielded their interiors from curious eyes. “They are prior patrons, I assume. Or current ones. Men of note who do not want to be seen.”

  If prior ones, from how long ago? The possibilities distracted her from the ritual. She tried not to stare at those dark coaches. She resisted the urge to walk over to them and peer inside and see just who had arranged to say good-bye to Alessandra in this secret, formal way.

  “The sixth one does not hold her patrons from any time,” Daphne said. “Audrianna and Verity are within. They are here for you, Celia, even if they do not show their faces.”

  Celia appreciated the effort her dear friends had made. Since both had recently married men of good society, Audrianna and Verity had to show circumspection in matters like this. Even being known as a friend of Alessandra’s daughter could taint them.

  Daphne, an independent widow, had neither a husband nor a social circle to appease. Yet Daphne had not truly shown her face either. A good deal of black netting flowed from her broad-brimmed black hat, obscuring her moonlight hair and perfectly pale face. She had insisted on accompanying Celia, however, even though Celia had advised she not.

  Celia peered at the five carriages again. She saw small slits in the curtains of two, and tried h
ard to glimpse whatever she might through the openings. They were too far away, and only darkness showed.

  Daphne’s hand subtly touched hers, reminding her to keep her thoughts on the prayers. Feeling guilty, Celia paid attention to the moment but not to the words. She allowed memories of her mother to come, some good and some painful, the most poignant ones those of the last few weeks. Alessandra’s illness had brought them together after five years of estrangement. Any angers from the past, any resentments and scars, had not mattered very much during those last sweet days.

  Except one.

  When the service ended and the women drifted away, Celia permitted her attention to turn to the carriages again. She looked directly at each one as it rolled past, both to acknowledge the respects of the invisible man inside, and to try to sense his presence so perhaps she would recognize it later.

  “He was here,” she said to Daphne after all the carriages had gone. “I am sure of it.”

  “He probably was.”

  “He will perhaps write to me. Maybe now that she is gone, he will reveal himself.”

  Daphne wound their arms together and escorted Celia away. “He may indeed.”

  “You are only humoring me. You do not believe he will.”

  “He has not thus far, so, no, I do not believe he will.”

  Celia walked with more purpose. “It was cruel of her not to tell me. I have a right to know who my father is, but she dismissed my pleas.”

  “I am sure that she had her reasons, Celia. Perhaps you should accept that she knew best on this. Perhaps keeping her own counsel on the matter allowed her to pass in peace.”

  Celia blinked away tears for the woman she would never see again. “No doubt she thought she did what was best, in this as in everything else about my life. However, I will never accept that I will never know my father’s name.”

  “It was just talk, of course. Vague rumors. I neverbelieved it myself.”

  “But others did?” Jonathan peered through the slit in the blinds. Most of his mind assessed the mission that his uncle was giving him, but a small part of it remained alert to the little drama playing out near the grave.

  “Perhaps some did. There was no proof, only patterns and coincidences. They caused those in power to be suspicious at a time when suspicions abounded, often without good cause. Hence the concern now. No man wants his name tied to hers too closely during those years, due to the talk, lest it cast him in a bad light unfairly.”

  Uncle Edward imparted the necessary information in a lazy voice that reflected how minor he considered the entire matter. He also made it clear that he assumed Jonathan would accept this little charge, as he had so many others over the years.

  Jonathan parted the blinds a little more. Over at the grave a clutch of women stood, all in black. Most of them would be recognizable to any man about town. Some were well-kept mistresses, and others were the most sought-after ladies of pleasure who chose their clients from among the ton. They lived on a little moon that closely circled the planet that best society inhabited, and formed a satellite world to which men of good birth traveled with some frequency.

  Not all the women were notorious. Two of them seemed out of place. One, tall and willowy, remained invisible under veils hanging from the wide brim of her hat. The other, shorter and blond, wore no hat at all.

  He squinted to see that second one’s face better. The distance made her vague, but, yes, it could well be Celia. Had she come out of sentiment, as a dutiful daughter? Or as her mother’s heir, the way Alessandra had planned and assumed? She stood proud and straight, and did not seem at all embarrassed to be surrounded by the kind of women who had been her mother’s only choice of friends.

  “And if the rumors were accurate?” he asked Edward, not taking his eyes off that blond head. “What if I discover that Alessandra did pass pillow talk to the enemy?”

  “The war is long over. You are not being asked to investigate, let alone expose such things. Just discover if she left any accounts or such, with names that might be made public. Bring them to me if you do.” He smiled a smile that had been the only warmth Jonathan had received from any of his blood relatives over the years. “It is very simple. A few days’ work at most.”

  Jonathan finally gave his uncle his attention. “Why me, if it is so simple?”

  “You knew her, didn’t you? You were friends with her.” Edward’s expression remained impassive, but Jonathan knew the mind behind those regular features and dark eyes too well to be fooled.

  “Friends, yes. Not lovers, in case you are assuming that. I do not know her secrets. I also saw nothing to give credence to these rumors.”

  “Of course not. Still, you can move in her world better than anyone else, since you were a friend.” He gestured toward the window, and the women at the grave. The inhabitants of Alessandra’s world. “They will all trust you for that reason alone. And also because people tend to anyway.”

  His uncle alluded to an odd truth, one that Jonathan had become expert in exploiting. People did trust him. For reasons unknown, their instincts told them to. He did not understand it himself, but it had made his missions for Edward easier. Somewhat ignoble too, and vaguely dishonorable, no matter how right the cause.

  It was not clear how right this new cause was. Not that it really mattered. He had long ago stopped debating such things. A man could not make his way as an investigator if he took sides. Whether executing a duty for the Home Office, or tracking down the love nest of an errant wife, it behooved him to remain objective if he wanted to eat.

  He peered out the window again. He wondered if he could remain objective this time. Alessandra had indeed been a friend. There was something distasteful in the notion of picking through her life and past. It felt like a betrayal of her.

  He faced his uncle squarely. “Another man would be better for this.”

  “We want you. There is no telling what will be learned. We can’t trust some runner from Bow Street.”

  “I don’t like it. I had intended to go back to France anyway.”

  Edward tried to smile, but instead his mouth stretched in a thin-lipped line that spoke more worry than good humor. “You don’t want to be leaving so soon. I am making progress with Thornridge. I intend to go down to Hollycroft myself next week and see if my efforts have borne fruit. If I am successful, you will want to be here when the goal is achieved.”

  He alluded to a long quest, one that Jonathan increasingly doubted fulfilling. Edward had been his only ally in that struggle of obtaining the family acknowledgment that would put the ambiguity about his life to rest.

  Edward said nothing more, but an old understanding hung between them. Edward would help Jonathan, if Jonathan helped Edward. It had been his uncle who recruited him during the war, and who had always acted as the go-between for the Home Office when it came to the investigations on which he was sent.

  Normally, the allusion to the great prize would make Jonathan set aside any misgivings. Today it did not. He was not sure why. Perhaps that sense of betraying a friend caused his ill ease. Possibly Edward’s lure was losing its appeal. The bait had been in the water a very long time now, after all.

  Then again, maybe it was because he had seen Alessandra’s daughter today. Celia’s vivid, bright, youthful spirit had always made him feel dark and murky and old beyond his years.

  Edward’s expression turned serious, as if he saw something in the face across the carriage that troubled him. “There is something else.”

  “What is that?”

  “It is possible—I did not want to speak of it, because of this friendship you think you had, but there is some indication that the attack you suffered in Cornwall is tied to this. Just a pattern that can be traced; that is all. Nothing definite.”

  “You knew this and did not tell me before? Damnation, you know I have a debt to settle there. If you have any information about the man behind that I want—”

  “I assure you it is all very elusive. Still—one o
f her early patrons was a French émigré, as you may know. He taught her style and manners. There have been hints he was linked to it, and we have reason to think that she continued to see him up until his death two years ago. Privately and on the sly.”

  So the rumors were not without some provocation. Jonathan did not believe that Alessandra would knowingly send him into a trap and to almost-certain death. He did not want to think such a thing of the woman who had been almost motherly toward him.

  On the other hand, a person’s choices could be harsh in this world. An agent with missions of questionable morality cannot afford a conscience that is too particular. He knew all about that.

  The burial service ended. The women drifted away, leaving the blonde and her veiled friend near the grave.

  “Will you do it?” Edward asked. “You must follow orders this time. None of that inconvenient independence you showed the last time up north.”

  “External circumstances intervened up north, as you well know.”

  “You should have found a way to put Hawkeswell off when you learned he was sniffing around the whole matter. You should have—”

  “I warned you that the stench was so big someone was bound to smell it. Do not blame me if the government has been embarrassed.”

  Their carriage rolled, and approached a part of the lane that cut closer to the grave. A blond head faced the passing carriages. As they drew near, Jonathan saw Celia’s lovely face a mere ten feet away.

  The pretty, golden child had grown into a very lovely woman. She appeared just as sweet now, though perhaps less innocent. She looked right at the covered window, acknowledging its invisible occupants.

  The day was overcast, yet the world brightened just a bit all around her, as if she gave off her own radiance.

  Jonathan turned away from the window and met his uncle’s frowning impatience.

  “Yes, I will do it.”