The Sinner (2 page)

“He is gone. Let us see if we can make you more comfortable now, Miss Monley.”

She heard his voice plainly this time. Jolting up on her good arm, she twisted in shock.

And looked right into the resplendent brown eyes of the most charming wastrel in England.

chapter
2

T
he women of English society could bicker and argue with the best of them, but on one point they had always been in total agreement.

Dante Duclairc was a beautiful man.

That was the word they used. Beautiful. His luminous eyes, thick, lustrous brown hair, perfect face, and devilish smile had mesmerized any female he chose to conquer since he turned seventeen. Fleur knew three ladies who had committed adultery only once in their lives. With him.

The years had added some hardness to his countenance, but they had not dulled the heart-skipping effect that his attention provoked.

Even in her, and he wasn’t even trying.

His expression bore curiosity and wry amusement. He smiled with warm familiarity, instantly bridging time back to that period ten years ago when his brother Vergil, the Viscount Laclere, had courted her. And yet underneath his cool, refined composure there shimmered a dangerous, exciting energy. With Dante it was always there.

Right now it frightened her speechless.

Somehow she knew without asking that they were alone. There was no female servant in this cottage, which meant that Dante had probably undressed her and put her in bed. What he had seen while the physician tended her had been the least of it.

“You are uncommonly brave,” he said. “Wheeler never suspected that you were awake.” His tone implied that he had known the exact moment when she had come to. He had caressed her head aware that she would feel him do it.

“It was my hope to avoid giving explanations to strangers.”

“Since I am hardly that, you should not mind giving one to me. Let us get you comfortable first.”

Her reaction to the Dante Duclaircs of the world had always been to run away, but she could not do that now. She suffered his lean strength hovering over her bed, propping pillows and arranging to her comfort. When he began to ease her onto her side, she stopped his hands with a freezing gesture and managed it on her own.

That left her looking up at him and him looking down at her. He had removed his coat and collar, and his shirt gaped open above his waistcoat. As an unmarried woman, she never saw men this relaxed in their dress.

Her vulnerability hit her with force. She said a quick prayer of thanks that of all the libertines in England, she had been fortunate enough to fall into this one’s hands.

After all, they had come close to being related. That should count for something. She hoped.

He crossed his arms and regarded her. For a man with a reputation for being good-natured, his scrutiny appeared more critical than one would expect. She tucked the bedclothes around her neck.

“This is a remarkably singular occurrence, Miss Monley. Finding you, of all women, in my bed.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy.

She eased back against a pillow and winced when her bottom stung from the pressure. “I trust that you did not hit your target.”

“Of course I did. Be glad I did not aim for your head, which is where you almost got me.”

“Only because you veered to the right. I did not aim anywhere near you and was just trying to scare you off.”

“Why? I expect you to explain what you were doing with a gun, in those clothes, running around this county.”

“I would rather not.”

“Then you leave me no choice but to assume that you are part of the mob burning machines and fields. Their leader? I hope so. There is a considerable bounty on that head, and, as it happens, I could use the money.”

Yes, he probably could, if he was fleeing to France. Gregory would probably pay handsomely to get her back too. Best not to let him know about that.

“Is your brother at Laclere Park?” she asked.

“He and Bianca have been spending a few months in Naples, where she is performing. My sister Penelope traveled with them. Since Charlotte and I prefer London, there are only servants at the house here.”

Despair stomped out the small flame of hope that she had been carefully stoking for two months.

Dante’s tall form towered over the bed. “Is that why you are here? You came looking for Vergil?” One finger gently slid under her chin. He tilted her head until he could see her face. “Are you in some trouble, Fleur?”

She could not answer. That last bit of hope had been very fragile, but it had sustained her. With its destruction all her strength simply disappeared. All was lost now. Her freedom, the Grand Project, her dream of having her life mean something—If Gregory entered the chamber right now she would agree to whatever he wanted.

Dante gazed down at her. He owned the most beautiful, clear eyes, and the concern in them surprised her. She had never seen him look serious before. He was the sort of man whom one assumed did not care about much at all.

He had called her Fleur, which he really shouldn’t do, and was touching her, which he definitely shouldn’t do, but she
was
in his bed, wearing his nightshirt. There was nothing insinuating about his behavior, in truth, and the breach in formalities comforted her. She was relieved to be able to respond in kind. “I am very tired, Dante. My head is still swimming. Perhaps in the morning I will feel up to explaining.”

His hand fell away. “Of course, Fleur. My apologies for pushing you.”

She fell asleep almost immediately. The laudanum must still be making her drowsy. Dante walked around the bed to get the candle.

He held the light closer to her face. As a girl Fleur had been the epitome of fashionable beauty with her dark hair and ivory skin and bowed red mouth. She possessed a willowy grace and demure demeanor too, along with a significant fortune. All of that had made her one of the most prized girls on the marriage mart. When it looked as though his perfect brother Vergil was going to win her, it had seemed evidence that the world indeed functioned like a well-designed clock.

Then Vergil had married an American opera singer and Fleur had disappeared onto the Continent for two years. Upon her return she had been a changed woman. She withdrew from society and shunned balls. She grew indifferent to her beauty and dressed unfashionably. Charity work, not pleasures and diversions, absorbed her interest and income.

The mumble that she had lost her looks was untrue. Dante thought her still extraordinarily lovely.

She was in trouble and frightened. Frightened enough to walk cross-country during the night to seek refuge with his brother.

Foolish of him to think that she would confide in him instead. Just as well that she had not. She would be trouble enough without entangling him in whatever misadventure had involved her.

He left the door open and went down to the sitting room to contemplate providing for her protection after he left tomorrow. While he did so he cleaned both of their pistols. No sooner was he finished than he heard the sounds of horses and dogs that said the posse was approaching.

Tucking the pistols away in a cabinet, he strode to the door and waited on its threshold.

Ten horsemen thundered into the little clearing and reined in their animals. Pearson, the steward, flew off his mount and ran to Dante.

“Had to bring them. They stopped at the big house and demanded entry. Said the dogs had a scent of one of them on the big hill, heading this way.” He lowered his voice and tipped his head closely. “They demanded to check every damn cottage, especially the vacant ones. I insisted on coming to keep an eye on them and to reassure the tenants.”

“Good man. Try to stay when they leave. I need your help.”

Sir Thomas Jameson, the county justice of the peace, heaved his considerable bulk off his horse and paced forward. “Who is that there?” His beefy face jutted toward the door’s shadow as he tried to see in the moonlight.

“It is Mr. Duclairc, the viscount’s brother,” Pearson said.

“Duclairc? Didn’t know you had come down. What are you doing here?”

“I am visiting the family seat. What are
you
doing here?”

“Damn question to ask. Someone’s got to protect the property and uphold the law while the likes of you waste your time in gaming hells and brothels. Now step aside. We are searching for one of them seen coming this way.”

“I have been here all evening, so I can assure you that one of whatever you hunt is not in here.”

“Still, got to check. Last month the men of the county decided it was how we would do it, no exceptions.”

“I must insist upon one.”

“I said step aside, or we might get suspicious about why you refuse.”

“My good man, politics bore me and everyone knows it. I would not know the difference between a radical and a radish.”

Another man left the horses and joined Jameson. “Humor him, Duclairc, so that we can all do our duty and get home to bed.”

Upon hearing the sardonic voice, Dante immediately lost his sense of humor. “You are a long way from London, Siddel.”

“As are you. An odd coincidence to meet you here so soon after our last encounter.”

Dante’s blood flowed hotter at the reference. Their last encounter had been at a card table two weeks before and, he was almost positive, Siddel had cheated. “Laclere Park is Duclairc property, Siddel. You are the one with no ties to Sussex.”

“I was in the county visiting a friend and decided to join the fun. A rare treat, hunting man instead of fox.”

Icy currents of ill will flowed between them. Jameson did not seem to notice. “Can’t wait all night, Duclairc. Step aside.”

There was nothing to do but try and contain the damage. He backed into the cottage. “Surely two of you will be enough. I am not prepared to host a county assembly.”

Jameson nodded. He and Siddel stepped inside.

The search did not take long, since the cottage held only a sitting room and kitchen down below. Jameson conducted some ridiculous poking into chests.

Dante lounged in his chair but kept one eye on Siddel’s dark hair and thickening form. He had been a sportsman in his youth, a regular Corinthian, but excess and drink had taken its toll and turned him soft.

It was hard to believe that the man had a shrewd head for investments, as was reported, and counted great financiers and wealthy aristocrats among his associates. The style in which he lived confirmed those rumors, however. His despoiling cynicism proved, to Dante’s mind, that the belief that virtue and success went together was nonsense.

Jameson plodded to the stairs.

Dante wished that he could spare Fleur this, but he saw no way out. “Gentlemen, I must warn you that there is someone up there sleeping. Not him whom you seek, but a lady.”

Siddel grinned. “I doff my hat to you, Duclairc. Even as the bailiffs sniff for your trail, you dally for your pleasure. That is true style.”

“Thank you.”

“Still, while we are all gentlemen and your word should be sufficient, it would probably be best if we verify your description of the person above.” Siddel headed for the stairs with unseemly anticipation.

Jameson had turned to come down and he flushed furiously when Siddel blocked his path. “Yes, of course. Needs to be done. Damn embarrassing though,” he muttered as Siddel shooed him up.

“She is sleeping,” Dante called after them. “I trust that you will do nothing to disturb her. She is very tired.”

Siddel laughed. Jameson stumbled.

Dante listened to their boot steps on the boards above his head. He heard them pace over to the bed. He heard Jameson exclaim in shock.

Both men beat a retreat to the sitting room.

Jameson gaped at him. “It is . . . it is . . .”

“I doff my hat again,” Siddel said dryly. “What brought her here?”

“My charm, I assume.”

“I meant, what conveyance. There is no carriage outside.”

“I hired one and fetched her when I heard she was back in the country. My last indulgence.”

Siddel’s lids lowered. “Most definitely that.”

The threat was unmistakable. Dante recognized the tension pouring off Siddel, because he had provoked it often enough before. The man twisted with suppressed fury, just like a husband who had been cuckolded.

Jameson was so flustered one might have thought
he
had been caught with a saint in his bed. “Very good, very good. Done here. All finished. Out we go. The soul of discretion, that we are, eh, Siddel? Our lips are sealed. Good night to you, and give the viscount my regards. . . .”

His words rambled out the door after him. Siddel did not follow immediately. He turned on Dante from the threshold, limned in moonlight.

“You will regret touching her,” he snarled.

This more blatant threat piqued Dante’s annoyance. “I did not realize that you had an affection for her, Siddel. If I had but known . . . Well, it actually would not have made any difference at all. You will see to Jameson’s silence, I trust?”

Siddel muttered a curse and swung out of the cottage.

Horses began pouring down the lane. Pearson eased in through the garden door as the sounds receded.

“Where is my sister Charlotte?” Dante asked.

“She is visiting Brighton with the St. Johns.”

“First go to the house and find some women’s clothes. See what Charl or Penelope have left there. Then I need you to ride to Brighton immediately and tell Charlotte that I need her here at once. Get St. John to come too. Tell him it is important.”