Sinful Deeds (7 page)

Handing over the last of the letters to
Will, Dante scrubbed a hand through his hair and realised his mistake. His
fingers were still covered in ink. Perfect. Now he’d have ink everywhere.

“Is
that everything, my lord?”

“Yes,
thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow
is Sunday, my lord.”

He
laughed at himself. “Of course it is. See you on Monday then.”

He
watched the boy leave and debated his ink-stained fingers. They weren’t rough
like those of the men who worked on the ships or hauled the containers around,
but they certainly had a look of hard-work to them. What would Josephine make
of that, he wondered.

Perhaps
he should go to her. He walked past her house on the odd occasion. Really, he
had thought he might run into her as he took his lunch near the docks. But no,
she had remained hidden away. Perhaps she was spending time with that bloody
Robert Allen.

Was
that why she had run away from him at the ball? He’d been stricken with too
many emotions that night. Lust, jealousy...desperation. In green silk, she’d
stolen his breath. He wanted to pull it from her, to draw her close, and
breathe in her scent. To uncoil her golden hair and see it about her shoulders.
Perversely, he wanted to sit and watch her paint. As their dance had come to an
end, he’d been struck by the idea of seeing her all covered in paint while her
brow furrowed in concentration.

He wanted
her for so much more than bedding, and yet she had denied him again.
Josephine’s body had always come so easily to him, but it was her mind that was
the problem. Or was it his?

He
could solve this by offering to marry her, but he loved her too much for that.

“Blast.”

Yes, he
loved that woman to distraction. It was the only explanation as to why he’d
obsessed over winning her back. He supposed he’d always loved her in his way.
But his love certainly hadn’t been enough. He’d been a real ass.

However,
marriage wasn’t an option. It simply wasn’t. He’d seen what it did to his
mother and father—hell, what it had done to him and his brothers. There was no
way he’d do that to Josephine.

Dante
retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on before
snatching his hat from the hat stand. The streets were bright enough at this
time of year but the early evening fog had begun to roll in and it would not do
to get caught in it. Pockets were too easily picked in that thick soupy stuff.

He
locked up the office and nodded in the direction of the few workers who
remained. Soon his work here would be done, and he’d be at a loose end again.
What would he do with his time then? It was hard to recall how he had managed
to stay so busy before working. He would have to take a trip up to Lockwood
Manor and pester Julian to find him some more work.

The
murky scent of the Thames washed over him, mingling with the odour of oil and
metal as he strolled along the dockside. He edged around the thick metal chains
and ropes that tethered the ships and barges. Somewhere along the river, he heard
the chug of a barge.

When he
turned into the street, he paused. If he walked a little farther and took two
more turns, he could be outside of Josephine’s house. But what would he say?
What would he do? He had no words or actions left.

“Cyn!”

Dante
lifted his head and peered through the oncoming gloom. “Foxley.” He strode over
and shook his friend’s hand firmly. “How the devil are you?”

“Good,
good. What are you doing around here? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Julian
has some business here. I’ve been helping with negotiations.”

His
redheaded friend peered at him as though he might have grown two heads. “You’ve
been working?”

He
lifted a shoulder. “A man has to put in an hour or two of work occasionally.”

Foxley
laughed and shook his head. “I suppose you needed to keep your mind off that
mistress of yours. Damn shame about things ending between you. She was quite
the woman. Still, you know you could have come to the club and forgotten about
things just as well there. No need to go about doing something as God-awful as
work you know?”

Dante
merely grinned. Foxley wasn’t a bad chap, just a little irresponsible. They’d
had some good times together, but he doubted his friend would understand what
he felt for Josephine. Foxley went through women quicker than most men smoked a
box of cigars.

“I’m
just headed to that new place on the corner of Barrow Street, do you know it?”

He
lifted a brow. “Isn’t that place a little rough, even for you?”

“Yes,
but that’s where the excitement is. Besides their rules are little less rigid.
I can win a small fortune without having to worry about pesky things like
honour.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Will you not join me?”

He
debated his options. Go home, sit alone, drink, and ponder his fate without
Josephine or have enough drinks to get himself thoroughly foxed.

“Why
ever not?”

They
slipped down one of the alleyways and came out on one of the smaller London
streets. Had he been on his own, he probably wouldn’t have attempted to come
this way. He knew how to handle himself well enough—hell, he regularly got into
fights when he’d had too much to drink—but the gangs that roamed the streets
could be huge and he’d have no chance.

Foxley
paused in front of a green painted door. Even in the gloom of the gathering
fog, he could see the chipped and battered state of it. It looked as though one
too many people had been pushed against it and given a sound beating from some
of the scuffs on it.

He
rapped on the door, and it inched open before being pulled wider by a small,
round woman. She indicated with her head for them to come in. Handing over
their hats and jackets to a younger, more comely woman, they ducked into what
had clearly once been a house but was now converted into a makeshift bar and
gambling den.

Scents
of stale smoke and strong, cheap liquor burned in his nostrils. Underfoot the
carpet crunched with the remnants of broken glass. A bar lined the length of
the front room while several round tables occupied the rest of the space. Behind
the bar stood a burly man with his arms folded. He watched Dante closely.

“You
say there is money to be won here?” he murmured to his friend.

“Yes,
some of the biggest amounts too. Those who prefer to wager things that they
ought not to frequent here. I even heard a sister was won recently.”

“Good
God.” What had he let himself in for? He didn’t wish to win a woman. For God’s
sakes, he was having enough trouble with one as it was.

The
barkeep poured them a generous splash of brandy, and they propped themselves on
the bar while Foxley eyed the tables. It wasn’t the first gambling den he’d
been to that likely ran on the wrong side of the law, but he had usually been
fairly drunk by the time he’d strolled into one. He’d certainly never noticed
quite how squalid these places were.

Well,
when in Rome...
He threw
back the brandy, ignoring the bitter tang and how it singed his throat and
signalled for another. He added another to the mix in his empty stomach and
grimaced. He’d regret this come tomorrow.

“Here,
let’s try a hand.” Foxley motioned to the table with two empty spots.

Both
the men playing appeared well-dressed though Dante didn’t recognise either of
them. The game started off with fairly low stakes, but the pot increased
dramatically when the chap opposite Dante threw in some deeds. Taking another
man’s land had never appealed to Dante. He knew too well what it was like to
have nothing of your own.

He
glanced around at the withered faces. The faint buzz of alcohol was slowly
dissipating. He eyed his cards, then the slips in the centre of the table.

Laying
down the cards, he shoved his paltry winnings and stake into the centre.
“Sorry, chaps, I have somewhere to be.”

Dante
didn’t even listen to Foxley’s protests as he left the den. He barely paused to
think until he was standing near Josephine’s house and pondering what the devil
to say to her. Hand to the wall to steady himself, he drew in a breath. He
would smell of liquor—that might not go down too well. And he still had no
answers for her, only that he would try harder to be a better man.

The
taint of the gambling den still haunted him and he felt dirty—and even a little
ashamed. There had been many a night when he should have returned to Josephine
but instead had haunted places like that.

Had he
been mad?

Before
he decided on a course of action, her door opened and out stepped that blasted
Robbie Allen. He curled his hand into the brickwork of the building next to him
and peered around the edge of it. She didn’t go on tiptoes and kiss him
sweetly, thank the Lord, but she did give his arm a little squeeze as he put on
his hat and tapped his cane to the cobbles.

Dante
dropped back when he saw her radiant expression. He’d hurt her that evening at
the ball. He wasn’t sure why but he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t take away
her radiance. Maybe he would have to resign himself to giving her up forever.

Josephine hadn’t set foot in the house
she’d lived in for four years since she’d moved out. It was an odd sensation—staring
up at the wide windows and cream stone and recalling the many happy memories
there. The sad ones had been somewhat clouded. She fought to recall them, to
hold onto the anger and indignation at being treated so.

She had
spent hours listening for his footsteps, hoping for his return. Many more
trying to express what she wanted out of life. But Dante had wanted little more
than her body. At least, that was what she had thought.

Pulling
the bell, she waited. Now she wasn’t so sure. Oh why did he have to confuse her
so? It was as though the world had been put on its head. Dante was working and
enjoying it by all accounts. He was interested in her art. He was—she
supposed—the man she had first met all those years ago with one exception. He
possessed...she wanted to say a confidence to him, but that didn’t seem right.
Dante had always been confident. She supposed it was something to do with
self-assurance—as though he might have found his place in the world. The
trouble was, she wasn’t sure she had quite found hers.

Miss
Smith opened the door and greeted her with a brilliant smile. Her heart panged
a little for the friend she had lost. Yes, she had been her housekeeper but
also her confidante and companion.

“Mrs Beaumont,
I wasn’t expecting you.”

She
shook her head. “I’m only here for the few brushes I left behind. Do you
recall? The ones that I—”

“Yes, I
have them. I did send word by the lord, but he must have forgotten to tell
you.” She stepped aside to let her in. “He’s been so busy of late that I’m not
surprised to be honest.”

“I
didn’t know if you might have cleared everything out for the next tenants.”

“He’s
been keeping the house open for—” Miss Smith glanced down.

For his
next mistress? She hadn’t seen him in weeks, much to her disappointment, and in
spite of herself. Perhaps he had found someone else.
That
thought was
particularly unpleasant and sent a jagged pain through her.

“I left
them in the room where you use to paint.” The housekeeper indicated upstairs.
“Do you mind if I leave you? I have some errands to run today. The grocery boy
was late with his delivery and, well, you know how it is.”

“Of
course. I shall fetch the brushes and be on my way. It is...It’s lovely to see
you again.”

“And
you, Mrs Beaumont. I’ll be keeping an eye out for your paintings when you’re
rich and famous.”

Josephine
gave a warm smile. She wasn’t sure that was achievable on her own but she would
try damn hard to make it happen. “Thank you.”

“Well,
have a good day.”

“And
you.”

Josephine
climbed the creaky stairs and walked into the room she had turned into her art
studio. Splashes of paint still marred the floorboards and she noted Dante
hadn’t changed much. A chaise still sat under the window while a small table
that used to hold paints and brushes now held a vase filled with wildflowers.
The painting she had left behind hung in the place of one of the older
paintings she had taken with her. She paused in front of it and reached out to
stroke the canvas.

“Do you
remember when you painted that?”

She
snatched her hand back, but she couldn’t help smile as his baritone warmed her
chest. “I do. You wouldn’t sit still for long.”

Two
gentle hands came to her shoulders, and she leaned back into the warmth of him.
Yes, she had missed him in bed—her body still craved him—but she hadn’t
realised how much she had missed simple touches and his enjoyable company until
now. Her vision began to cloud and she sniffed, feeling foolish. Why could she
not let him go?

He used
his hold on her to turn her around. “What’s this?” Dante skimmed a finger over
her cheek and swiped away a tear.

She
shrugged, unable to express the confusion inside. Was she a fool? Should she
just accept whatever she could of him? Or was it too late? She couldn’t quite
admit to how her heart was breaking over letting him go for good. She supposed
she’d always imagined he’d try to win her back. Maybe she’d even clung to that
idea. After all, it was very pleasant for one’s ego for one of the more
notorious rakes to be pining for you.

Dante
slipped that finger under her chin and raised her head. His gaze searched hers
and he released a slow, audible sigh. “Some of my best memories are from this
room.” A lazy smile slipped over his lips. “Some of my worst too.”

“Your
worst?”

“Coming
here after you’d left me, for example.”

“I
see.” Another hot tear escaped as her vision clouded further. This was what she
wanted was it not? A life of her own. A chance to seek her own future. But
seeing the reflected pain in his expression made her doubt all that. What if
life wasn’t better without him? What if she failed and there was no one there
to pick her up?

And
yet...and yet she knew she had to try. She couldn’t be held back by fear
anymore.

Dante
used his thumb to trace her mouth—his eyes solemn.

What
was this? A last moment before telling her he’d decided to take another lover?
But, as he leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t care for the reasons. All she
wanted was to feel his mouth upon hers, to revel in the excitement and anticipation
Dante always brought with him—even if it was for the last time.

But his
kiss, while it reached down inside her and knotted her insides, was gentle, almost
reverent. He skimmed his mouth over hers in a feather light touch. It was so
unlike Dante. Patient, careful, undemanding. It was as though he was awaiting
her permission.

When he
touched his lips to hers again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and
twisted her fingers into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He put his
arms about her waist and drew her close. She felt the restrained power there.
When they touched, sparks always lit between them and now was no different,
except...except Dante seemed different.

Josephine
pushed the kiss deeper. She nibbled on his lower lip and sighed with
gratification when his tongue met hers. Sorrow, confusion, jealousy...they all
faded away. Nothing but the simmering need this man created existed now.

He
smoothed his hands up and down her back, rasping over the cotton. His hands
were rougher than usual but his touch was soft, as though committing every part
of her to memory. He’d had four years to do that, so why he needed to now, she
did not know.

A hand
came up to cup her face, his thumb pressing into her cheek. He broke away long
enough to gaze down at her. Her breath trapped in her chest. She wasn’t sure
she’d ever seen him look at her like this either. His eyes were no longer dark
with desire but soft and gently passionate. She clasped the back of his neck
and dropped her head forward so that his lips pressed to her forehead.
Savouring the touch of him there for a moment, she drew back and lifted her
chin.

“Kiss
me,” she begged.

Perhaps
this was more foolish behaviour, perhaps this was opening her heart up again,
but at present, it seemed as though not having his kiss, his touch, his
lovemaking, would be far worse than suffering whatever wounds it inflicted.

Dante
bundled her close this time. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, bringing his lips
to her ear. He nipped and drew her lobe between his teeth, making a shudder run
down her body. “Jo-Jo, you have no idea—” He broke off to skim his lips down
her neck and back up to run along her jaw.

His
mouth sought hers once more while his hands moved up to her hair. Pins pinged
to the wooden floor. Her golden locks began to spill around her, and he kissed
every part of her face. Her nose, her chin, her closed lids. He left no part
untouched.

Not
even her heart. It stretched and pulsed in time with his kisses.

Dante
eased her around again so he could begin undoing her laces. He swept aside her
hair and kissed the back of her neck. She eyed the painting of him, taking in
his beautiful features. It had been one of her best pieces, she suspected.
She’d never realised it before but, although she’d managed to capture his
sinful good looks, she had also picked up vulnerabilities that she’d never
noticed before. His eyes were searching and a little lost. That was the
difference in him now. He didn’t seem so lost. Not found as such but close.

His
deft fingers could have unlaced her gown in seconds. He could have had her
naked in minutes, but it seemed he wanted her so hot and wanting that she
feared she might shimmer and explode in a ball of flames. It took all her
willpower not to wrench her garments off herself.

Down
came her gown, bringing a little cool relief. Then he set to work on her
corset. Her ribs expanded as he loosened it bit by bit with all the patience of
a saint. That dropped to the ground, leaving her in her combination, stockings,
and shoes. She was tempted to kick them off, but Dante seemed determined to do
everything himself—and at his leisure.

She’d
be lucky if he hadn’t driven her mad by the time she was naked.

He
kneeled behind her and slipped off her shoe, caressing her ankle. She bit her
lip so as not to giggle. Every movement he made was so intense and serious. She
didn’t dare shatter the moment. He reached up inside her undergarments and
untied her stockings to draw them down and off. Cool air breezed about her
calves as he stood to remove her combination.

The
garment came down slowly, skimmed her breasts, her stomach, her hips, and
finally her thighs. She stepped out of it, and his hands came around her waist
to draw her back against him. His hardness pressed against her rear. Surely he
had to be in as much agony as she?

He
cupped her breasts and plucked her nipples into harder points. She sighed and
leaned back against him.

“You’re
so perfect,” he murmured. “So. Damn. Perfect. Goddamn, I could kiss every inch
of you.”

“No.”

“No?”

She
twisted in his hold. She couldn’t bear it anymore. With a hand to his chest,
she pressed him back until the back of his knees struck the chaise. He wavered
for a moment so she pushed again. He fell down onto it. Dante lifted a brow.

Josephine
used her hands to part his legs and settled herself between them. Her bare
knees met cold wood but she didn’t care. She leaned across him to tug at his
necktie, drawing it away before starting on the buttons of his waistcoat. With
his help, she undressed him down to his trousers. Even his feet were bare.

As she
undid his trousers, she couldn’t help but smile at how scandalous it all was.
Her naked, between his legs.

“What?”
he asked.

She let
her lips tilt. “I was thinking how very naughty I should feel, on my knees in
front of you.”

He
fingered a golden curl. “I was trying to be gentle with you. You don’t have to
do this.”

“I
don’t need gentle.” She paused work on his trousers and lifted her gaze to his.
“Dante, I just need you.”

“I
don’t want to treat you like...”

“A
mistress?”

“Well,
yes.”

“You’re
not.”

“I
did.”

“Sometimes,
yes.” She finished undoing his trousers and eased his arousal out of his
briefs. He filled her hands, hot and hard and pulsing. Her body throbbed in
response.

“Will
you forgive me?”

Josephine
nodded and locked her gaze onto his. “Always.” Then she lowered her mouth to
his cock and took the head inside.

He
groaned, his eyes wide as he watched her go down on him. “Christ, Jo—”

Dante
made a strangled noise as she took him to the back of her throat. It wasn’t the
first time she’d made love to him with her mouth. She’d been a married woman
after all. But there was something in his respectful manner and the way he’d
wanted to treat her so honourably that changed it. She’d always tried so hard
to demonstrate her love to him through her body. She’d always wanted him to be
satisfied. And while she could never complain of being unsatisfied, she was
doing this by her choice—to please herself, rather than to please him. She
wanted
to taste him with every fibre of her being.

Josephine
made love to him until he drew her up with his hands to her elbows. He leaned
forward to place his hands on her hips and coax her onto him. His mouth found
her nipples, drawing them in and nipping on them. She weaved her fingers into
his hair and dropped her head back while relishing the sweet heat of his mouth.

Warm,
strong fingers found her sex and parted her. With long strokes, he teased and toyed,
bringing her to the brink before slowing down. By the time he had done that
several times, she was pleading and babbling, a mess of desire and want.

Hands
to her hips, he eased her forward. No gentleness existed this time. Only
primal, raw lust. He thrust up into her with one powerful lunge. Jaw tight and
grip strong, he worked himself deeper. Yet while the river of desire that
always coursed between them threatened to carry them away, his gaze held steady
on hers. It echoed all the things she had wanted from him.
Love
, his
gaze said.
I give you love.
And respect. And everything else she’d ever
wanted.