The Sinner (13 page)

However, like a well-known place that one visits anew after an absence, he saw both its charms and its worst flaws. Empty. No real intimacy. He had never noticed that before, or never minded, at least. The warmth was only physical and the excitement almost . . . lonely.

He sensed that more than thought it. The raw hunger pounding through him permitted little consciousness. He simply possessed a new awareness.

It wasn’t because of what she was, or planned to be. It had been the same with all of them. There had been little emotion in any of it, all these years. That had been a choice. A calm, deliberate choice.

He sensed the vacancy for another reason. He knew what it lacked because he had tasted what it could be. With Fleur. Not just behind the hedge, although that had been glorious. Even riding in the coach, holding her hand. Lying beside her in that bed. Reading a book on the other side of the library. In comparison to those pleasures, this old one seemed almost bleak.

Things were moving quickly and Helen displayed no hesitation. When he instinctively stopped his hands and cooled the kisses, she was surprised.

“We will be on your street soon,” he said.

That appeased her. She rested in his embrace, pecking little kisses on his cheek.

“Was Bath your home when you were a girl?”

“A village near it.”

“Did you have a lover there?”

“I am not a virgin, if that is what you want to know. You are in for no pleasant surprises.”

“Unpleasant surprises, you mean. I do not ravish innocents.”

“You don’t, do you? That is rather sweet.”

“Did your lover offer to marry you?”

“Of course. He thought that he had to.”

“Maybe he wanted to get married.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

She kissed him again, aggressively. Her hair feathered his face and her scent saturated his breath, inciting needs too long denied. Her body pressed, offering the oblivion of pleasure.

The carriage stopped in front of an attractive house on a street behind Leicester Square. He guessed that Helen paid a high price to live at this address, but it was money well spent. It let men know that she was a woman to be taken seriously, and a mistress with certain ambitions and expectations.

Luke opened the door and set down the steps. Dante ignored his coachman’s stony expression and handed Helen out. He escorted her to the house.

“You do not intend to stay, do you?” she asked, leading him into the reception hall. She had tastefully decorated it with framed engravings and a good table.

“What makes you think that?”

“You gave your coachman no instructions. He can hardly hold the horses out there all night.”

She faced him, her beauty enhanced by the glow coming from the brace of candles left lit on the table.

He did not lie to himself. He wanted her. At least part of him did. But the part that didn’t truly did not.

“No, I will not be staying.”

For an instant she looked very young and vulnerable. Then she drew herself straight and gazed at him boldly. “You think that I am too inexperienced.”

“Yes, but that is easily remedied, isn’t it? It really has nothing to do with you.”

She moved closer and laid a hand on his chest. “I would like to be with you. I will do anything that you want.”

“Do you think that my face and my birth make it different? That you can pretend it is other than it is? Ask Liza what it is really about, and what men sometimes want.”

“I already know.”

He removed her hand from his chest. “You should go back to your village near Bath.”

She snatched her hand away. “Has the famous lover become a reformer?”

He turned to the door. “Go back to your village and marry the man to whom you gave your innocence in love, if that was how it was. If you have known that, this can only be sordid.”

He was crossing the threshold when he heard her response. “Not with you, I do not think so. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Hers was not the door that he wanted left open, but he lacked the strength to slam it shut. His frustration gave him one hell of an argument all the way to the coach.

Luke waited there, wearing a grin of relief. Dante wanted to punch the young coachman in his glistening teeth.

“Home,” he snarled, jumping in the coach before his body could have its way and run back.

He closed his eyes and forced his warring reactions into a truce.

He began laughing, at himself.

Damn, but he was becoming a ridiculous figure. Here he was, leaving a woman who offered him anything he wanted, to return to a woman who could give him nothing at all. His freedom had become an unwelcome burden, and his life a marvelous joke.

In marrying his saint, he had made a bargain with the devil. Tasting paradise had thrust him into hell.

And the worst of it, the absolutely worst part, was that he couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow.

chapter
13

T
he window in Fleur’s sitting room faced the back garden. She sat in the dark on its deep ledge, letting the cool breeze tickle her skin and hair while she listened to the music.

The house next door, grander than hers by half, had a garden of its own separated from hers by a brick wall. The barrister who lived there with his young wife was entertaining tonight, and the music came from their drawing room. She could see the open doors from up here and the guests who strolled on the terrace and ventured down into the garden. Bits of laughter and conversation drifted on the breeze.

They sounded so gay. She pictured herself among them, lighthearted and carefree.

Despite the low commotion next door, she heard the carriage rumble down the alley. At the far end of the garden, a coach lamp twinkled along the wall and stopped. Then a brighter light shone through the distant window of the carriage house. Soon the hulking form of the coach obscured the window. The light moved away, toward the stable in the mews.

Luke was back. She pictured him removing his new hat and coat and unharnessing the horses. He would take a long time rubbing them down, making sure he did it perfectly. He would want to be certain that Dante would not find fault.

Dante. Her ears sought the sound of him in the house. She listened to the void and comprehended its meaning. Luke was back, but not his passenger. Dante was spending the night elsewhere. Early tomorrow morning Luke would hitch up the horses again and go fetch him from his lover’s bed.

The sickly sensation swelled inside her. She gritted her teeth and forced it down. He had probably done this before. She made it a point to retire long before she expected him back so that she wouldn’t know. Tonight the music had distracted her, however, so she did know.

The chamber suddenly felt confining and hot. Her own body did too, as if her skin encased a restless and anxious spirit. The breeze promised the refreshment of more than her body.

She went to her bedchamber for her robe. She would go sit in the garden and enjoy the party from behind the wall. Maybe the music and laughter would soothe her.

He noticed her as soon as she emerged from the house. She looked like an apparition floating in the moonlight as she strolled among the plantings. Not a ghost, however, despite her light garments. More like an angel.

It was not a formal garden that framed her slow, aimless walk. No neat beds such as one might expect of the tidy Fleur Monley. Instead, spring flowers peeked out from under shrubs and blazed amidst carpets of ivy. Only by the wall could one find a little patch of nothing but blooms.

He watched her from the shadows beneath a tree where he sat on a stone bench. As she passed nearby he saw that she was wearing the pink robe. Its pale color caught the moonlight almost as much as the billowing white gown beneath it, making her glow. Her flowing hair made dark streaks against the luminous cloth. The long row of buttons, dark blue as he remembered, formed so many dots from her neck to her breasts.

The musicians next door stopped playing. Fleur halted, as if she required the notes to move.

A waltz began. She looked to the wall and listened. Her body began to sway to the music.

Her arms rose and she swung around, dancing a few steps with an invisible partner. She stopped abruptly and her arms fell to her sides, like she feared someone would see her foolishness.

The music would not release her. Her arms rose again and this time she succumbed. Stepping and swirling, she floated among the plantings, dancing an angel’s waltz.

He rose and walked toward her. She saw him and froze in mid-turn. The bed gown kept moving, its billows of drapery sliding around her legs.

He opened his arms, offering to take her ghost partner’s place. She hesitated, then took the step that brought them together.

They waltzed in the moonlight. The narrow garden paths confined them, giving him an excuse to pull her closer. Only thin cloth separated his palm from her warm back. Their bodies grazed each other as they turned and flowed.

She looked so lovely. Her unbound hair flew out in the turns and the gown fluttered around his legs. Her small smile showed in the moonlight, and her joy in the dance spiraled along with their movements.

It both lasted forever and ended too soon. The waltz’s conclusion seemed abrupt, a rude interference in the swirling ecstasy. Dancers frozen in time, they faced each other motionlessly, still poised for more.

No music came. Voices in the other garden increased as guests came outdoors to refresh themselves. He felt Fleur’s breaths slow as her body calmed from the waltz’s exertion.

Awareness of their formal embrace broke through her fading euphoria. She glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. Her hand fell from his arm and she began turning away.

“Thank you. It has been years. I had forgotten how enjoyable dancing could be.”

He did not release her other hand. It stopped her short, body half turned away.

“I think that I will retire now,” she said.

“No.”

“It is very late. I am tired.”

“No,” he said more firmly. “It is a beautiful night, and I want your company.”

“I don’t think—”

He touched her lips with his fingers, gently silencing her. He did not want to hear her denials, because they would not make any difference. He could not let her leave. He had known he would not as soon as he saw her enter the garden.

He let his touch linger and caressed her lips, treasuring the sensation of their delicate warmth. The pools of her eyes stared cautiously.

He drew her to him. He shouldn’t, but he was beyond really choosing this.

The embrace made her tremble in that subtle, innocent way of hers. Any shreds of conscience disappeared as those little tremors saturated him. He held her feminine warmth tightly, relishing the soft curves under his hands and against his chest.

She reacted. He heard it in her breath and felt it in her body. She also resisted the reaction. Her hands held his shoulders, neither accepting nor denying.

He began to kiss her. With a little gasp she angled her face away.

“It is just a kiss, darling. We agreed it was permitted.”

“Like friends. Friends do not kiss when embracing like this.”

“Husbands and wives do, and we are married.”

“Not truly.”

“Truly enough for this.”

He kissed her. Lights burst in his head and blood. Somehow he found the restraint not to consume her. Instead, he lured her with small pleasures before finally demanding more intimacy.

Bliss. Holding her, caressing her, pressing her. Tasting, exploring, entering. Sensation layered on sensation. The warmth deepened and spread and engulfed. His body and soul exulted in the pleasure and intimacy.

He wanted more. It could never just be a kiss. Not tonight. His mind filled with images of everything he wanted, most of which he could never have.

But he could have her at least. For a while. In his arms. He could have whatever passion she could know, and whatever closeness she could give.

He kissed more deeply, pulling her arousal higher. Despite her trembling, her body arched toward him. He caressed the swells of her hips and cupped her bottom with his hands and pressed her closer. She turned her head away with a gasp.

“You do not have to be afraid. You are safe with me. I know what you cannot give.”

“Then you should not . . .”

“Probably not. But you are beautiful in this night, and I have no defense against that.”

His desire demonstrated how little defense he had. Hunger cracked through him like a clap of thunder. He cradled her head, holding it to a fierce, reckless ravishment.

Her objections melted away. She molded into his embrace with shy compliance and slid her arms around his neck. The fast rhythm of her heart beat against his chest, and the lovely sighs of her breath played in his ear.

He broke the kiss and held her to him, bending to kiss the fluttering pulse in her neck. He glanced around the garden, half blind. He should stop, but he couldn’t.

The music began again. He took her hand and led her toward the wall, right into the bed of flowers. He shrugged off his coat and laid it out. Lowering to his knees, he tugged gently on her hand, coaxing her to join him.

She resisted, and glanced over her shoulder to the carriage house.

“Luke is asleep by now, and there is that tree outside his window anyway. He could see nothing,” he reassured. “Sit here and enjoy the music and night with me.”

She gazed down at him and her confusion was palpable. He pulled her to her knees in front of him, a devil tempting a saint.

“You are as safe as behind the hedge in Durham. More so. At least fifteen people laugh and talk on the other side of this brick wall. But if nary a one did, you would still be safe.” He moved so that he sat with his back against the wall. “Sit with me.”

His position must have reassured her. She crawled over and sat beside him with her legs cushioned in the flowers. “It is their first large party,” she said. “He remarried two months ago. A young girl. She is his third wife. His last one died two years ago.”

“Was she your friend?”

She nodded. “I knew it was going badly. You can just sense it, when a woman is lying in and things are taking too long. The house was like a tomb for two days. Catherine had been so happy as her time approached, but I was so afraid for her.” She turned her head, as if she could see through the wall. “I am glad he waited this long to remarry. I think it means he held some affection for her, don’t you?”

“I think so, yes.”

It wasn’t much reassurance, but she seemed thankful for it. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Luke was grateful to receive the livery today.”

“He looked very smart in it, and very proud.”

“It is very nice that you are giving him this chance. You can be very kind sometimes.”

He turned his body toward hers and slid his hand into her hair. “Sometimes, Fleur, but not always. Not tonight.” He kissed her the way he had wanted to for weeks. Frustration drove him and it turned hungry and hard and then consuming and furious. The passion that was not dead responded until, when he finally released her, she was breathless.

He did not give her time to think or object but lifted her onto his lap so that her back rested against his chest and he could embrace her. “Forgive me, darling, but tonight of all nights I need to hold you.”

His arms gave her no choice, but any hesitation she felt melted. He guessed that she found her position safe enough. They were not lying together. He was not on top of her, much as he wanted to be.

The music played behind them. Voices mumbled through the stone. Fleur relaxed. He turned his head so that his mouth rested on her temple and he could inhale her sweetness.

Her palms rested on his arms. They stayed there when his hands moved. He could never just hold her. She had to know that. His subtle caresses did not seem to surprise her. The entrancement of the music and the garden made it a natural thing to do.

He stroked through the cloth of her garments, feeling the soft curves of her sides and hips. “You are beautiful. Even that pink robe appears ethereal and lovely.”

She laughed. “It is the moonlight. Even your childhood nurse would look beautiful in it.”

“The light is not that generous.” He kissed her shoulder and released his crossing embrace so that his hands could move more freely over her body. She could bolt now if she wanted to.

He felt the slight flexing of her hips that revealed she was aroused. Her bottom pushed against his erection until he pressed against her cleft.

He clenched his teeth and accepted the unintended caress. He returned those of his own with his hands, more purposefully glossing her body through the wrap, stroking her stomach until her shortened breaths told him she was past rejecting this pleasure. With kisses and nips on her ear and neck, he lured her in deeper, so he was not the only one going mad.

His contained desire possessed a savage edge. The press of her hips maddened him. Half blind, he peered down at the obstructing dark buttons. Deliberately, ruthlessly, he caressed up her body until his hands cupped her breasts. Before she could object, he gently fondled their fullness and stroked their nipples with his thumbs.

She both accepted the pleasure and fought it. The little battle caused her body to move. She pressed her hips against him harder to relieve the sensations. Her breaths shortened and little sounds of desire floated on them to his nearby ear.

He listened and caressed until he knew pleasure had defeated any resistance. Continuing to arouse her with one hand, he began unfastening the buttons with the other.

She stiffened when she realized what he was doing. Her hand covered his, as if to stop him.

He ignored the gesture. “You will let me, darling. If you truly did not want me to, you would have left by now.”

She whispered something, but his hunger did not let him hear it. He parted the robe and made quick work of the bed gown’s ribbons. He spread the halves of both garments until her breasts were exposed. He watched his fingers follow the lovely outlines her curves made.