Sinful Deeds (4 page)

“Come
here.”

Taking
her hand, he led her off once more, slipping into a dark room at the end of the
vestibule—one that was usually used by the musicians during balls and suchlike.
The curtains were drawn and sheets were poured over the table and chairs. A few
ribbons of light slipped in between the drapes, catching on the gilded frames,
making them sparkle and shine like precious jewellery.

She
should have risked embarrassment and dragged herself away from him, though
perhaps this was better. Now she could tell him in no uncertain terms that he
was to leave her be without fear of people watching.

He
tried to draw her close, but she pressed her palms to his chest. Dante’s arms
remained around her but he wouldn’t force her, she knew that much. Dante
Cynfell had likely never had to force a woman into his arms—and certainly not
her. She’d always been more than willing.

His
heart beat steadily beneath her palm, and a wounded look came across his face
belying that stable thrum.

Lord,
how those eyes that could be likened to that of a puppy dog’s tore at her
chest. The need to smooth her hands over his face and tell him all would be
well burned in her mind. How weak she was. She even felt the rigidness of her
arms begin to relax. It seemed she had no control over her body where Dante was
concerned.

“Dante,
please...”

That green
gaze pleaded with her, begged for her to stay and kiss him and make it all
better. “Can we not talk about this?”

“I
thought we already did.”

“I know
you cannot possibly have wanted to end things like this, Josephine. It’s so
unlike you.”

“How
would you know what is and is not like me?”

“We
spent over four years together, of course I know.”

Dante
began to smooth his hands up and down her waist, creating a friction deep
inside her belly. Yet again her arms drooped a little, allowing him that tiny
bit closer.

“We
spent four years together, yes, but I have changed in that time. You never
noticed. You were too busy drinking, gambling, and generally being as rakish as
possible to notice.”

“Now
hold on a minute, I was not so very rakish.”

“If you
tell me that I should be grateful for your faithfulness again, I shall scream
until someone comes to drag you away.”

His
eyes crinkled at that. “I will not. I shall concede that point was a pretty
damn foolish one. A woman like you should never have to be grateful for a man’s
loyalty.”

Josephine
stilled at this. Dante admitting he was wrong? No, surely she had misheard him.
She fought the desire to rub her ears hard lest some dust from the streets had
become caught in them. She drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. At some point,
she’d started smoothing her palms over his waistcoat and shirt, and that would
not do, so she forced them still.

“I will
always treasure our time together but as I said, it’s no longer enough for me.
I have dreams, Dante, and they involve more than being in your bed.”

“I’m
fairly certain we didn’t spend all of our time in bed.”

Oh no,
now he was closer. And closer still. The air between them decreased by the
second, and he wasn’t forcing her. She was letting him move in. The way his
eyes darkened, how he said
bed
...it all worked to open up this great
ache of need inside her. Her gaze flicked down to his firm lips.

Just
one kiss. What would it matter?
Just one kiss...

“We
were so good together.” His hands caressed her back firmly enough so that she
felt his touch through the boning of her corset. “So good. Don’t throw that
away. I’ll be what you need, sweets. Just give me a chance...”

She
almost breathed
yes
. Almost.

“Would
you marry me?”

He
stiffened.

“Then you
cannot give me what I need. I’m sorry.”

She
turned away and he let her but not before making her pause at the door by
calling her name. “Josephine, marriage isn’t a fairytale. I have seen what it
can do to two people. I would hate myself if I let that happen to us. But, mark
my words, I can still give you what you need. I won’t let you give up on us so
easily.”

She
shook her head. “What makes you think you have a choice?”

Dante felt a little like he was going cap
in hand to his brother. He hated it. As much as he loved his brother, the
marquess was the man who controlled whether Dante was left to rot on the
streets or not. Thankfully, their father’s title had fallen to one of the
smartest and most hardworking brothers. If Gideon or Jasper had been the
eldest, they’d all be in the workhouse by now. But Julian ran the estate with
quiet efficiency. In fact, before he had remarried, it was about all Julian
did.

The
coach drew up in front of Lockwood Manor with a crunch of gravel. Dante hopped
out before it drew to a complete stop, his body stiff from the train journey
from London and the subsequent carriage ride. The roads around his brother’s
estate were not the best, and he never had been good at travelling, hence why
he preferred to spend his time in London. The countryside, as far as he was
concerned, was a bore. Who would choose to spend time with the same people over
and over and suffer bumpy roads and country cuisine when there was so much on
offer in London? Even Birmingham and Warwick couldn’t hold a candle to London.

His brother,
however, preferred to spend his time in Warwickshire. Before marrying Viola,
he’d been close to a hermit.

The
butler permitted him entry and gave a deep bow. “Lord Cynfell is in the
library.”

Of
course he was. Where else would his brother be but buried in books and letters?
“Thank you, Bramley.” He passed over his hat and coat. “How is everything? Is
the new lady of the house treating you well or is she making you do some
God-awful American things like serving the women before the men or something?”

“I
shall have you know—” an accented voice came from the stairs “—that even we
savage Americans stand upon ceremony occasionally.”

He
grinned at the sight of his brother’s wife coming down the stairs in what could
only be described as a sort of split skirt. It wasn’t the first time he’d
witnessed Viola’s eccentricity. Apparently his brother didn’t mind it one bit.
How these two got along was beyond him. But there was something about the woman
that Dante couldn’t resist. He at least understood how easy it was to fall for her.

“You
mistake me, dear sister,” he said as he brushed a kiss over her cheek. “Bramley
might think these things are God-awful but I, for one, am quite in favour of
progress.”

“Yes,
you always have been quite the scandalous sort,” she agreed, “and not at all
likely to follow the rules. But don’t blame poor Bramley. He is far more
flexible than he looks.”

Dante
glanced at the stern-faced butler and released a laugh while his sister-in-law
led him to the library. He supposed, as wives went, Viola was a decent sort.
Still, give them a few years and that would all change. Before long she’d be
bitter like his mother and her friends.

Viola
looped an arm through his and led him through the house to the library. “Julian
is working as usual. I was about to take a ride, but I shan’t bother now.”

“Oh
don’t change your plans on my account. I’m only here to discuss the house.”

“Oh
yes, the London townhouse.”

“You
know about it?”

“Julian
tells me everything,” she confided as she pushed open the heavy oak doors to
the library.

He eyed
his brother who was sitting behind the carved desk, his hand thrust into his
hair and ink splotches on his fingers. It was hard to believe that his grumpy
brother would tell everything to his wife. After the death of his third wife,
the man had practically stopped talking to anyone, including his brothers. They
were all at a loss as to what to do with him until Viola came along.

“Julian,”
she called when he failed to look up. “Dante is here to see you.”

It took
his brother several minutes to glance his way as he finished scrawling whatever
it was. He opened a hand to his wife who came to his side and pressed a firm
kiss to his lips before she settled in a chair nearby.

Dante
tried not to be surprised at the way Viola had slotted herself into his
brother’s life. Even in the dim, dingy library, full of old books and dust, she
appeared perfectly at home.

“I
didn’t know you were coming,” Julian said, rising to open the drinks cabinet
and pour them all a drink. Even Viola ended up with a glass of Scotch.

Dante
cradled the glass and sat opposite. Gads, how he loathed this. He’d probably be
better off getting on his knees and pleading with his brother for the house. In
spite of looking very similar and being close in age, he’d never felt close to
Julian. Loved him yes, but liked him...he wasn’t so sure. Julian had taken on
the role of the head of the family long ago, and it was hard to forget that.

“I
wanted to talk to you about the townhouse. The family that were in it have
moved out now, have they not?”

“Indeed.”

His
brother took a leisurely sip of his drink, and Dante had the distinct
impression he was mocking him. His brother, the Marquess of Lockwood, mocking
him? It didn’t seem right. He wasn’t sure his brother knew how to mock. Mostly
he knew how to drink, be angry, and be serious.

“Julian,
don’t be an ass.”

Dante
couldn’t keep the smirk from his face at Viola’s words. He nodded his agreement
and copied her. “Yes, Julian, don’t be an ass.”

To his
astonishment, a bold grin crept across Julian’s face. “Yes, I know, you’re
desperate for the place. I never quite understood why.”

Because
it had once been his father’s. Because he could live right in the heart of
London where all the excitement was and away from the dreariness of the countryside.
His own apartments were on the outskirts of London, and it was a bore to take
the carriage everywhere. How he looked forward to strolling to the clubs and
not having to worry about his stomach growing queasy in a cabriolet after a few
drinks.

“The
house needs redecorating first...” his brother murmured.

“Hang
the decorating, I can do that myself.”

Julian
snorted. “Dante, I don’t think you’ve lifted a paintbrush in your life.”

A
paintbrush. Did he have to say that word? Even now, in a place that seemed a
world away from London, he imagined Josephine with a paint brush in her hands,
smiling at him as she glanced his way. Coloured flecks would cover her
porcelain skin and the scent of paint would be like an aphrodisiac to him.

Damn
it, he couldn’t let her go that easily. He simply couldn’t.

“I
could paint if I had to.”

He
could do anything if he had to... probably. He wasn’t really sure. When his
father had been alive, he’d been shown the ropes of what it was to be the marquess.
Julian had been gravely ill at one point in their boyhood, and it looked as
though he might have to take on the role. He’d seen so much of life that year.
He’d visited towns where his father owned mills, gone to shipping yards, spoken
with the tenant farmers, been taught how to do accounts, and any number of
other skills.

His
brother had recovered, and it had all been for nought.

Now he
was a second son, with little to do but enjoy himself. If he could do nothing
else, then at least he owed it to himself to do that well.

Julian
sighed. “Give me three weeks to ensure the place is ready, and it will be
yours.”

It was
odd. Dante should have felt like punching the air or clapping his brother on
the back. But instead, the victory felt slightly hollow. He’d been hoping for
that house for years now only to be disappointed each time his brother had let
it to another. He’d been offered one of the country cottages they owned, but
who wanted to live in a cold, crumbling cottage?

“Thank
you,” he said regardless.

“I
suppose you’ll be moving Mrs Beaumont in. Or will you keep her in the other
house?”

“Actually
Josephine has ended our—” he glanced at Viola and recalled she likely knew
everything about him if Julian really did tell her all “—acquaintance.”

“Oh
well, I’m sure you’ll find another woman soon enough.”

“I am
hopeful it’s only temporary. I’m keeping the house in case she decides to
return.”

“Yes, I
thought I saw a bill for the rent only last week. You really think she’ll
return to you?” Julian leaned against the desk.

“Why
wouldn’t she?”

Julian
shared a look with his wife. “Dante, you’re my brother and I love you, but
you’re a damn fool at times.”

He
snorted. “Says you.”

His
brother scowled at him. “Let’s just say I have learned a few lessons of late.”
He reached over and grasped Viola’s hand. The way they glanced at each other
should have turned his stomach but instead he found himself...envious. How
bloody bizarre.

“If Mrs
Beaumont has left you, there’s likely a good reason behind it, and if I know
you, you intend to try to seduce or shower her with gifts or some such to get
her back.”

Dante
lifted a shoulder, unwilling to admit his brother was right. So far the
seductions hadn’t gone quite as planned, in spite of Josephine’s continuing attraction
to him.

“I
think what my husband is trying to say,” Viola put in, “is that you might be
better moving on. You’re a charming and handsome man. No doubt some other woman
will be more than happy to take her place.”

Charming
and handsome. He sighed. Once that had seemed enough. He couldn’t be a marquess.
He couldn’t be the smartest man in the family. Hell, he couldn’t even be the
fastest or the strongest. But he could be the most charming and popular. Now,
he wasn’t so sure. But if he wasn’t charming and popular, what else could he
be?

And if
those things wouldn’t win over Josephine, what else could he do?

She
wanted a husband. A steady life. A sober, starch-collared bore most likely.
Well, he would never be any of those, but he could be serious. He wasn’t the
cleverest Cynfell brother but nor was he stupid.

“I’m
not sure I want another woman,” he admitted quietly, quite surprised by the way
the words tripped out of his mouth.

“Well,
then you shall have to think of some other way of winning her back,” Viola
said.

Dante
flicked his gaze to her and narrowed his eyes. How did the woman do it? He
swore his sister-in-law saw straight through him. Bloody canny creature. No
wonder his brother had fallen for her.

Slowly,
an idea came to fruition. He couldn’t do marriage. The word only made his
stomach churn. But he could prove to her that he was something more than a
rake.

“A
job,” he said slowly, testing the word on his tongue. “I think—” he lifted his
head and eyed his brother straight on to see the startled look on his face “—I
need a job.”