Lord of Sin Read online

  “The more you want it, the more you will enjoy it.”

  “I do not think I need to want it any more.” She moved his hand so that his fingers touched her nipple.

  That made him pause. Was she complaining? Instructing him in his technique? Him?

  Why, the little . . .

  “Forgive me, my dear. I stand admonished.”

  He threw careful consideration to the winds. She had just cast down a gauntlet at the foot of a champion.

  He gave her what she wanted, and made sure she enjoyed it. Deftly, ruthlessly, he aroused her until her breaths carried low cries. While he teased at her tight, hard nipples, he pulled the shoulders of her dress down her arms to her elbows. That forced her to release her embrace of him.

  She tried to reach for the right cuff with her left hand, to unfasten it. The dress imprisoned her upper arms, making that impossible. She raised her wrist for him to help.

  “No. I want you just like that, Bride.”

  That made her pause. She took in her situation with a quick, cautious glance. He lowered the chemise straps so her breasts were naked.

  She blushed. She shifted, trying to release her arms from the dress. “I think—”

  “You are not supposed to be thinking at all. I can see I still have work to do.”

  He caressed her breasts and her breath caught. He molded his hand around their warmth and softness. There was a small rebellion against the way the dress inhibited her movements, but she did not demand freedom. He wondered if she understood that the vulnerability increased the pleasure.

  Tremors slid through her. He could feel their echoes in his touch. She bit her lip against the faint sounds escaping her.

  She looked stunning. Beautiful and wild and erotic. Her breasts were so lovely, full and high. And her skin—that of her face had astonished him from the start, but the skin of her shoulders and breasts beckoned his lips.

  He indulged, kissing along the top of her shoulder. She jumped with surprise, letting him know he had found one of her special sensitivities. He moved down her chest and her breaths deepened. She tried once more to move her arms, but gave up. She surrendered to captivity.

  He licked one erect, dark rose nipple. He lightly caressed the other. He felt the sensation overwhelm her. She fought it. He used his tongue and fingers to win. With a melodic, breathy moan, she gave in.

  Her arousal turned wild. Her cries of sensual torment made his own control waver. His mind filled with images of what he would do and wanted to do and could not do. In all of it she was crying for him as she did now.

  He shrugged off his coat. He laid her down and settled himself above her. She parted her legs so he nestled between her thighs. That had his mind clouding. Hard hungers drove out what was left of his sense.

  Mad now, determined and impatient, he caressed up her leg, lifting her skirt and petticoat.

  He rose enough so that his hand could reach her thigh. His fingers touched slickness and her scent filled his head. He kept laving her breasts while his hand caressed higher. Her cries grew frantic and frustrated. Her hips rocked as she begged for relief. He touched the unearthly softness of her curls and mound, and gritted his teeth against the primitive urge to go down and kiss and suck the sweetness waiting there.

  He slid his finger into her cleft. She was hot and wet and unbearably soft. He looked at her face as he pleasured her. She had gone mad, completely crazed. She was ravishing in her passion. Perfect and free.

  He wanted her badly. More than he had wanted a woman in years. Maybe more than ever before. It made no sense, but he could not deny it was true. The awareness that he would soon possess her appealed to something ferocious and rare in him.

  Mind splitting, body howling, he began releasing his trousers. He would take her and it would be perfect. She would belong to him and never wear ugly dresses, and he would teach her all about pleasure and give her jewels and—

  A ray of light poked through the roaring storm, making him stop.

  No, he would not be doing any of those things, no matter how perfect this might be.

  He looked at her face, so transformed and welcoming. Her cries and breaths said she was as impatient as he was.

  He inhaled deeply. He moved his hand until it rested on her hip. A battle clashed inside him and he did not even know who the opponents were.

  Her lids rose. Realization slowly dawned in her eyes. With it came an awareness on her part of how insane they had both become.

  He inhaled deeply again. His body comprehended what was happening and began punishing him.

  Finally he admitted the truth.

  He could not do this. He did not know why, and he hated that he couldn’t. It infuriated him. All the same, he could not shake the intrusive idea that it would be . . . wrong.

  That was such an absurd notion that it almost had him laughing. All the same, he sat up, and lifted her as well. He smoothed down her skirt and pulled up her chemise.

  To say she was startled did not do justice to her reaction. Her expression changed from perplexed to stunned, to blank, to cold.

  “It was going too far,” he mumbled. He helped her fix her dress.

  She shrugged off his hands and began fastening the front. “It appears you aren’t nearly as good a seducing scoundrel as we thought.”

  He wanted to throttle her. No, he really wanted to rip off that ugly dress so she was spread out naked under him as he thrust into her so long and hard that she had one of those transcendent climaxes the stupid poets alluded to.

  Instead he rose and walked to the door.

  Here he had acted honorably for the first time in his life, for reasons he did not even begin to know, and the harridan didn’t even appreciate it.

  Lyndale strode outside, badly in need of cool air. His body was giving him hell. He wondered if that was why his countrymen heaved tree trunks. Maybe the sport had started as a way to relieve untimely erections.

  He wandered into the stable, thinking throwing around some hay would help just as well.

  He heard Michael’s muffled laugh. Following the sound, he climbed up to the hayloft. Michael stood at the wide door, coats removed and lying at his feet, looking down outside.

  “You had better move. I don’t want to fall on you,” Michael called. He was so intent on the view that he did not hear Ewan come up behind him.

  Ewan peered over Michael’s shoulder. Joan lay laughing in a high mound of hay. Presumably she had jumped, and now Michael planned to join her for a little frolicking.

  “If you jump down there, your neck will break,” Ewan said.

  Michael froze, then swung around. A cautious smile played at his mouth. “Oh, it ain’t all that far.”

  “It will not be the fall that kills you.”

  Michael blanched. “It is just a game, sir.”

  “I know the game. I am a master at it. Remember?” Ewan stuck his head out and looked down at Joan. She saw him and her face went red.

  “Get inside the house,” he ordered. “And put on a damned dress. Don’t the women in your family know better than to walk around showing the shape of their legs and whatever else in those breeches?”

  Joan rolled off the hay and ran to the house. Ewan turned to Michael. Hurling a tree trunk was a poor substitute for thrashing someone.

  Michael backed up. He raised two cautious and appeasing hands. “Now, sir, there was no harm done and none intended.”

  “Do not treat me like I am a fool. I tolerate you, and even enjoy your company, but when I say do not touch, I mean do not touch.”

  Michael had never shown proper deference, and it was clear he was too callow to start now. “There was no touching, I swear.” He sniffed. “You are just out of sorts because you did not get what you wanted with the big red one.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The others might not know what you were up to in that library, but I guessed. Saw you eyeing Bodisha all during dinner. I even distracted Joan here, to help you out. She’s the
only one smart enough to suspect.” He assumed a hurt expression, as if all he ever got for his selfless loyalty was complaints. “I told you she was a woman quick to kick men where it hurts.”

  “She did not kick.”

  “No?” A frown claimed Michael’s face as he pondered that. Suddenly it cleared. “Oohh, you mean . . . no wonder you are . . . I hear it happens to everyone, sir, if that makes you feel better. Especially once a man starts getting old.”

  “Old?”

  “Well, you are past thirty. Even prized stallions can’t go on forever.”

  “You are in grave danger of having me kill you. She did not kick, and I did not . . . what you imply. And none of this is your concern.”

  “Forgive me, just from your ill humor I thought that things went awry in that library, and I figured those are the only reasons why they might.”

  Yes, only two reasons Michael could understand. Only two that Ewan could, too. That was the damnable part of it. He had stopped and he did not even know why.

  Maybe it had to do with this responsibility nonsense.

  Yes, that was it.

  He had never been responsible for anyone before, even slightly. Now he did not know how to quash the inconvenient notion that he was supposed to take care of this woman, not seduce her.

  A livid fury joined his frustration. This was exactly what he had feared would happen when he inherited that damned title. Here he was, debating whether he was allowed to make love to a mature and experienced woman whom he wanted and who was willing.

  It was absurd. It was unnatural.

  Michael chose that moment to flash one of his cocky grins. “I could sleep in the library tonight if you want to try again.”

  Ewan grabbed him by the collar and trousers and hurled him out the door. Michael flew through the air and landed in a sprawl in the hay.

  Ewan stormed out of the stable.

  This inheritance threatened to ruin him. He had suspected it could, and now he had the proof.

  Well, he’d be damned before he turned into one of those saintly dullards who walked on a narrow path between two thick, high walls.

  Those walls were named “duty” and “responsibility.”

  Bride did not sleep that night. She tossed in the bed she shared with Joan, hoping Lyndale would leave soon, and also hoping he would not.

  The “would not” just kept intruding, never bidden. It was an irritating fantasy that kept sneaking out of her heart, accompanied by memories of luscious pleasure and the wistful illusion that she had mattered, if only for an hour. It was the silly reaction of that part of her that was still a girl.

  Time would solve that quickly, however. In a day or so the childish excitement would fade. She would not humiliate herself further by building illusions on what had occurred. If ever a man had been honest about seeking only momentary pleasure, it was Lord Lyndale.

  She mentally worked through the duties waiting once he quit this house. The responsibilities pressed on her, already making her weary. The sense of being owned by dull drudgery was a familiar feeling of late, and one that had mercifully disappeared the last few days. Lyndale was an intrusion, but she had to admit life had been more exciting with him here.

  She planned the trip to Edinburgh, and the work before and after. She thought hard about that fifty pound note. Was it safe to wait, or should she do something to discover how dangerous that was to them?

  And Walter—she had told herself that he merely abandoned her, but what if he had come to harm, or was imprisoned by the forgers? Did she not owe him as much as she had wanted to believe he owed her? In the least, shouldn’t she try to discover what had become of him?

  Before dawn, she heard noise in the house. Muffled movement penetrated the wall that separated her chamber from the one Lyndale was using. Steps sounded on the stairs.

  She rose from the bed and draped a knit shawl around her. She peeked out the door.

  Lyndale stood atop the stairs, watching Michael descend with two valises in his hands. Lyndale held his hat and riding crop, and his redingote was slung over his arm.

  She slipped out of the chamber and shut the door behind her.

  He noticed her. The lamp glow from his room offered little light, so she could not see his expression when he turned to her. Just as well. She had avoided him last evening, and had tried to ignore his presence when they found themselves in the same room.

  She did not understand everything that had happened in the library. All she knew for certain was that she had embarrassed herself again with that quick capitulation. She had acted like the lonely, forlorn, aging spinster he thought she was.

  “I am grateful to see you, Miss Cameron. I was debating if there was some way to wake you so that I could express my gratitude for your hospitality.”

  “You are leaving?”

  “We have imposed too long. The day promises to be fair and we should make good progress on our journey.” He sounded very smooth, very confident. There was the smallest note, however, that suggested he found her presence as awkward as she did his.

  “I will arrange for the house in Edinburgh at once, and send for all of you when it is established,” he said.

  He would no longer come himself, as he had first intended. He was distancing himself. Stewards and servants would deal with them now. Bride suspected that, barring a major problem, they would never see him again.

  Unfortunately, major problems loomed and they could not risk he would interfere even then.

  “No, Lord Lyndale, you will not find that house. We are not going to Edinburgh. If you at some point thought I agreed to that, I can only say that when you sought to settle the matter, I was at a disadvantage.”

  He turned his hat in his hands. She could not fathom his expression.

  “Yes, you were. My apologies for that. I am left with no choice but to honor your preferences on the matter, or else appear to have dishonorable motives. The settlements, however, you still agree to those?”

  “For my sisters. I would never have accepted for myself, so it is not your motives that I question.”

  “I will establish the necessary trusts as soon as I return to London. The papers should be posted to you soon.”

  Michael’s head appeared halfway up the steps. He gestured to Lyndale, then turned and went back down.

  “We will go now,” Lyndale said. “Miss Cameron, you must promise me that you will let me know if you are ever in need of my assistance. Neither of us asked to have this obligation on my part bind us, but it does all the same. My fortune and my protection are available to you and your sisters, should either be needed.”

  She had to smile at the tactless word “obligation.” Lord Lyndale did not bother with pretty turns of phrases. “I promise that I will never forget that your assistance is there if we need it, sir.”

  He turned to go, but stopped. He faced her again, his head cocked as if a thought had just occurred to him.

  “Duncan McLean,” he said. “Yesterday in the library you referred to my uncle, the last earl, by his given name.”

  “Did I?”

  “I am sure you did. How did you know his name?”

  “I have no idea. You must have mentioned it, or perhaps Michael did to Joan and she used it.”

  She sensed him thinking that over.

  “Yes, that must be it.” He made a small bow. “Please give your sisters my regards, Miss Cameron.”

  He took his leave.

  She watched his broad shoulders descend into the shadows, disappearing from her life forever.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Ewan slid his arms into the dinner coat that Michael held. “I confess that I am a little nostalgic. This is the last time that I will dress for the night in this chamber.”

  “The new dressing room is big enough for a ball. I expect you will get used to the luxury soon enough. I will.”

  Michael fussed with the garments with a newly attentive precision. Out in the other chambers, crates w
aited for the move to Belgrave Square in the morning.

  Ewan had settled on the house in December, soon after returning from Scotland. Now, with the new year, he was ready to take possession of the Earl of Lyndale’s new home.

  “You have seen to the servants?”

  “They will be awaiting your lordship’s arrival. All men, as you demanded, though it was not easy to find ones willing to do the women’s work. Had to offer more than the going amount.”

  “Money well spent. I cannot have a bevy of female servants there. What a horror. Even with my collection in the second drawing room, they would complain. And the parties—” He did not even want to think about the reaction of female servants to that.

  “These will know what to expect. I picked them carefully.”

  “You have been an enormous help. I could not have faced the ordeal without you.”

  Michael swiped a brush over the coat. “I am honored that you are pleased, my lord.”

  Ewan cocked an eyebrow at the deferential tone. The last few days, Michael had been acting like a servant who knew his place. That was suspicious.

  “Since you are pleased, perhaps we could discuss my situation here,” Michael said, as he laid out Ewan’s watch and fobs.

  “You are unhappy with your situation?”

  “Things are changing. That big house and all those servants. I won’t be doing all that I have. It is not clear what I will be.”

  He had a point. Up until now, Michael had served as everything. He was valet, coachman, groom, butler, and housekeeper. That the serious housekeeping was done by women hired by the day, only meant that he managed the hiring and paying of them.

  “You will be my valet. The steward will handle the rest. You probably will have to take a more formal air when others see us, of course. The familiarity should not be copied by the new servants.”

  Michael appeared to think that an acceptable solution. “The steward will arrange the parties, then?”

  “It may be best if certain parties are managed by you.”

  “He won’t like that, my lord.”

  “He will have to accept it. I’ll be damned if I am going to have servants commanding me in my home.”