The Sinner (6 page)

She suspected that she would lick at the sweet memory of that moment for a very long time.

When they arrived in Newcastle they took a late luncheon in the Versailles’s elegant restaurant. While Fleur nibbled her cold beef she kept looking past Dante’s shoulder curiously.

“Does that dark-haired man back there know you?” she asked. “He keeps glancing our way.”

Dante twisted to see a man his age reading a newspaper while he worked his way through a plate of cakes. “That is Ewan McLean. We were at university together. His estate is north of Berwick.”

“Why hasn’t he greeted you?”

Dante knew why. “Excuse me, while I go speak with him.”

He walked over and took a seat at his friend’s table. “Are you giving me the cut, McLean?”

McLean’s black eyes twinkled. “Just trying to be discreet, Duclairc. If you came all this way north, I assume that the lady does not want to be recognized.”

“Not discreet enough. She noticed you noticing.”

McLean’s face broke into a roguish smile. “Very lovely. She looks familiar but I cannot place her.”

“Fleur Monley.”

The smile fell in astonishment. He peered Fleur’s way more obviously. “
No
. I’ll be damned. You devil. If you are discovered it will be your undoing. I should upbraid you for corrupting an innocent, but instead I am moved to admire your audacity.”

“Miss Monley and I have just been married.”

McLean displayed genuine shock. “Say that you jest. You have no business getting married, and you damn well know it. We simply are not the type, Duclairc. Not to mention that if you have tied the knot, my visits to London promise to be considerably duller. I had planned one in a week, but if you have been domesticated there is no point in going.”

“Your heartfelt congratulations touch me.”

“Forgive me. Of course I am delighted for you. She is quite a catch and I only wish for your happiness. You must excuse me if I see this in symbolic terms that do not bode well for me, however. It is one of those watershed moments of history, like the Vandals conquering Rome. An era of pleasure is ending before my eyes.”

“Well, compose yourself and come meet her. You are the first to know, by the way.”

“You eloped? Stupid question. Of course you did. Even independent women have someone looking out for them that the likes of you and I would have to dodge.”

He brought McLean to Fleur and introduced them. The Scot showed more tact in congratulating her.

“You are on your way back to London?” McLean asked, making himself comfortable in a spare chair and sending for his cakes. He pressed one on Fleur.

“We had planned to stay the night here at the Versailles first,” Dante explained. “However, they are full, so we will find another hotel.”

“I would say that is unlikely. Haven’t you noticed how crowded the city is? A huge wedding is to be held tomorrow. The joining of two great coal families. Everyone in the north country has come for it. I doubt that you will find a stable with space to lay your head tonight.”

“I suppose that we could push on until we are outside the city,” Dante said. “Could you manage that, Fleur? You have been in a carriage for three days and I know that you must be tired.”

McLean had been busy feeding his sweet tooth. “I have a better idea. As it happens, I was not invited to this great wedding, having once been discovered in a compromising situation with the bride’s sister—” He caught himself and grimaced at Fleur. “My apologies.”

“None are necessary, Mr. McLean.”

“I assure you that it was only very slightly compromising. More a misunderstanding—”

“Your better idea,” Dante said.

“I keep a suite of chambers here. It serves as my home in Newcastle. Why don’t I be the one to push off, and the two of you can make use of it? I had planned to depart tomorrow anyway.”

Fleur looked amenable to the suggestion. Dante shot McLean a meaningful glare. “Are these chambers similar to the ones that you keep in London?”

“Much more elegant. You will find them acceptable, I think.” He belatedly understood the question’s true meaning. “Oh. You mean . . .” He glanced at Fleur. “Not at all. For the most part, these are very traditional in their decor. And the library, while small, is almost entirely composed of the predictable classics.”

Dante remained skeptical of “for the most part” and “almost entirely.” Mclean’s London rooms comprised a sexual play yard. And the library . . .

“You will not be embarrassed, Duclairc,” McLean mumbled while Fleur was distracted by a server. “Nor will your bride be shocked.”

“I would prefer to delay more travel until tomorrow, if we could,” Fleur said, her attention returning. “If it would not inconvenience you, Mr. McLean.”

“No inconvenience at all. I am joyed to be of assistance.” He rose. “I will have the servants prepare for you. All should be ready in a couple of hours. Duclairc, I will let you know when I am next in London. Perhaps you will call on me.” He took his leave.

“What a thoughtful man,” Fleur said. “He is a good friend?”

“Yes.”

“He appeared a little sad when he left. He thinks that you will have to repudiate your bachelor friends now that you have tied the knot, doesn’t he?”

“It is often the case.”

“He will be relieved to learn that it is not
your
case.”

Her indifference to that unaccountably annoyed him.

Of course she would be indifferent. He wanted her to be. He certainly did not want her resentful and demanding. That would turn this white marriage into a farce worthy of the lowest opera house.

He knew why he was reacting like this. The little ceremony in the stone church had moved him in unexpected ways. It had left him both surprisingly happy and oddly melancholy. It had been the deeper part of him, a part he preferred to ignore, that had experienced the latter sentiment.

It stirred in him now again.

“Have you finished?” he asked. “If so, why don’t we take a turn and see the old city.”

His beautiful wife dabbed the last of McLean’s cake from her lovely lips and extended her little feminine hand to him.

The staff of the Versailles were expecting them. When they arrived at dusk they were ushered into McLean’s suite.

Dante quickly examined its entirety while Fleur went to remove her bonnet in the bedchamber.

The
only
bedchamber, he discovered.

He stood in the middle of the sitting room and examined the delicate furniture laid out around him. In London, McLean’s sitting room was full of soft chaise longues and deep divans. Every seat invited sprawled comfort and provided convenience for seduction.

He would gladly exchange this room for the one in London at the moment. He would find a way to explain the swing hanging from the ceiling if it meant getting a good night’s sleep.

“Oh, my, this is amazing,” Fleur’s distant voice exclaimed.

He followed the sound through the bedchamber and dressing room to a large tiled closet.

“Look.” Fleur bent over a large tub shaped like a shoe and turned a handle on the wall above it. “It comes out warm. They must heat it on the roof before sending it down through pipes. What a novelty. I will have to use it.”

She left him. He stared at the contraption and pictured a naked Fleur, slick with water, reclining in it.

“Oh, my,” he heard her say again.

This time he found her in the bedchamber, holding a candle high and looking up under the drapes. “How very clever.”

Dante strolled to the red, satin-covered bed. Luxurious. Huge. He peeked under the canopy to see what fascinated Fleur.

A large mirror hung directly over the bed and under the drapes, suspended on stiff wires.

“Do you think this is another of the hotel’s new conveniences?” Fleur asked.

“More likely McLean added this himself.”

She moved the candle around. She did not appear very shocked at all. “He is a very inventive man.”

“He prides himself on it.”

“Look how it reflects the light off this candle and makes it grow. Why, if you lit several you could read all night almost as if it were day. Mr. McLean must be devoted to books to have come up with such a brilliant solution.”

“In his own area of investigation, the man is a renowned scholar.”

Their gazes met across the glistening expanse of that satin bed. She froze, as if she suddenly realized where they were. Or as if she read in his eyes the images of reflected loveplay romping through his brain.

“Come to the sitting room and have some wine,” he said. “McLean arranged for some to be sent up.”

She walked around the wonderful bed. In the sitting room she perched herself on a little chair. “It was kind of your friend to do this for us. I am more tired than I had realized. These chambers are perfectly beautiful.”

“Perfectly beautiful, perhaps, but not perfectly convenient, despite the piped warm water. There is only one bedchamber.”

She glanced a sharp question to a door on the other side of the room.

He shook his head. “A study.”

He handed her a silver goblet of wine, realizing belatedly that it bore relief images of satyrs having their ways with nymphs.

She did not notice. She was examining the fragile furniture of the room. “I don’t suppose that there is a divan in the study?”

“Afraid not. I will take some blankets and make myself comfortable on the rug out here.”

She peered down at her wine. “It is really not necessary for you to sleep on the floor. You could use the bed too.”

It took a five count for him to absorb what she had said. “Excuse me?”

A deep flush rose up from her neck. “It is a very big bed, and we are both very tired and face a long journey. It will be a little awkward, I admit, but I expect over the years this situation will occur again. When we visit people, for example.”

His body instantly announced that sharing a bed with her would be a mistake. The very idea had him hardening. Sanity demanded that he make do with the rug.

However, the notion of sleeping with her, even chastely, held an unexpected appeal. He could not explain why he wanted that intimacy, but he did. And just maybe . . .

“You are sure? I would not want you frightened or embarrassed.”

“You never frighten me. I trust you completely.”

So much for “just maybe.” He would prefer she did not trust him. There was no reason why she should, and it was damn inconvenient that she did.

“This is very considerate of you. We will get a servant to help you with that bath. I will wait until you are asleep before I retire myself.”

“That is very thoughtful.”

She rose and disappeared into the bedchamber. When a manservant came to the door, Dante sent for a woman. He paced the sitting room until she arrived and went in to assist Fleur. Soon the sounds of splashing water drifted through the suite. Images of his wife washing her body lapped against his mind, defeating attempts to remain distracted.

He gladly would bathe her himself. And later lift her from the tepid water and dry her with the soft towel and carry her to that satin bed and take her slowly under the diffused light of that big mirror . . .

The water sounds stopped.

The servant emerged, curtsied, and departed.

After some movement, the bedchamber grew silent.

He checked his pocket watch. He would wait a solid half hour. That should do it.

He entered the study and perused McLean’s library. Almost entirely the predictable classics, but not completely. He spied his friend’s greatest prize, the only known surviving copy of
I Modi
, the series of erotic engravings by the Renaissance artist Raimondi. He flipped through the graphic images of sexual positions.

All of which were out of the question tonight.

Just as well. Changing that part of their arrangement would alter everything about it, and he certainly did not want that.

The half hour up, he entered the bedchamber. A candle burned on a table beside the bed, and the mirror spread its pale golden light, dimly showing Fleur’s hair streaming down over the satin coverlet. She slept on her back. Her thick dark lashes feathered against her cheek.

He went to the dressing room and pulled off his clothes and put on the nightshirt that his recently rehired valet had sensibly packed. Trying not to wake her, he eased onto the bed.

He settled on his back and watched her in the mirror. She looked so peaceful and beautiful. He had never seen her hair down before. It flowed in thick waves over hands that were clasped atop the sheets on her stomach.

Her lashes flickered and her lids rose. They looked at each other in the reflection. A body’s width separated them on the bed and they both lay almost rigidly beneath the mirror’s moving light.

“I did not mean to wake you.”

“I was not sleeping yet.” She glanced down the bed. “This is a little strange.”

“Yes.”

“But not unpleasantly so.”

“No, not unpleasantly so.”

She looked at him again in the reflection. “Thank you for marrying me.”

He had no idea what to say to that.

She closed her eyes. Her clasping hands relaxed and fell to her sides. He sensed her getting drowsy, but she looked up again. Her brow puckered into a thoughtful frown.

“Dante. This mirror. You don’t suppose . . . It is a scandalous thought to have, but could it be that he put it there so that . . .” A blush deepened the rosy glow of her cheeks.

He reached over and patted her hand. “Most likely it was just to help his reading.”

Her small hand turned under his. He left his atop it, enjoying the sensation of palm on palm. He reined in the impulse to roll toward her and make the connection one of mouth on mouth and body on body. There was a simple, pure affection in their handholding, and he enjoyed it more than he expected, but his blood wanted more.

“Good night,” she muttered sleepily.

“Good night, pretty flower.”

chapter
6

M
y aunt Ophelia owned this property,” Fleur explained while the carriage followed a little lane through rolling Durham farmland. In the distance behind them a slow cart lumbered, carrying a few servants that she had hired at the nearby village.

“Her husband had died in the war, and her sister had disappeared, so she made my mother, her half-sister, her sole heir. It came to me through my mother.”

“You have an aunt who disappeared?”

“Aunt Peg was not mentally sound. She was forever childish. Aunt Ophelia had her live in a little house within sight of the main one, with a servant who cared for her. Then one day she wandered off on her own and didn’t come back.”

She was talking too much, trying to fill the silence. Dante had been very quiet this morning, as if sharing that bed had made him uncomfortable with her. His manner had pulled back from yesterday’s easy friendship.

“She was never found?” he said.

“Gregory and the men of the county searched for days, but to no avail. Ten years later her bones were found in a ravine miles away. She must have fallen and perished there.”

“Farthingstone was your aunt’s friend? Is that how he met your mother?”

“He has property that adjoins this on the north. Aunt Ophelia introduced him to my parents here years ago, and he became an adviser to them on financial matters. After Father died, my mother and I spent most of a summer here and he and she grew closer.”

The coach brought them to an impressive stone house surrounded by tall trees. “I rarely visit here, but it should be presentable,” she said. “There is a couple who care for it.”

She was relieved to see that Mr. and Mrs. Hill had kept it very presentable. Dante strolled through the rooms on the first level.

“A lady’s home,” he observed, running his fingers across the light patterned cloth on the drawing-room chairs. “Is this a large property?”

“Not so large. The income is not very significant.”

She wondered why she said that, since it was not true.

She realized that she did not want him thinking that her decisions about the disposition of this property were addled, the way Gregory claimed. It might sound that way if she had to explain it to him. Once everything was arranged and worked out, however, he would see the soundness of the Grand Project and sign any deed necessary.

When the servants arrived, she sent one up to prepare two chambers. Two chambers, two beds, two lives—that was the future they began this day. The notion made her a little sad.

Last night had surprised her. She had never guessed at the comfort to be had in lying beside a man. It created a special closeness that she had never imagined could exist.

This morning they had lain there after she woke and sensed that he was alert. She had kept her eyes closed, wanting it to last, not moving so that she could drink in the cozy mood for a little longer.

She rather regretted they would not share that again.

After a light meal they made a walking tour of the property. The day was crisp and a lovely breeze moved fluffy clouds across the deep blue sky. She brought him to a hill about a mile from the house, from where one could look out over surrounding land.

She stumbled on the way up. He righted her and gently swept the grass off her skirts. She was very aware of the discreet pressure of his hand through her petticoats. With any other man it would be improper, but he
was
her husband and friend.

He took her hand to help her climb the rest of the way. The renewal of contact warmed her, and she was grateful that he did not let go when they reached the summit. They surveyed the countryside hand in hand, in something like yesterday’s partnership.

“That cottage down there is where Aunt Peg lived,” she explained, pointing east. “I am giving that building and the surrounding ten acres to a school that will be built here.”

She did not know why she impulsively confided this essential part of the Grand Project. She only knew that she felt moved to share it with him.

“I thought that you were selling this property, not giving it away.”

“I will be selling some of the rest, to create an endowment for the school.”

“The income cannot be so small, if it can support a school.”

Now she remembered why she never spoke of this. Explanations had a way of leading to the parts of the project she should not reveal because they would sound somewhat mad.

“The sale of the land will only provide part of the endowment, of course.” It was the truth, but she did not like dissembling.

“It is out of the way for a school. I thought the ones you supported were in cities.”

“This will be a special one, for colliers’ sons.”

“How will the boys get here?”

“There is a coal town about three miles north, and we expect some to come from there. Others will live here during the week and go home on Sundays.”

He appeared interested. “Can their families afford to permit it? Not only the cost of the school, but the loss of wages if the boys do not work?”

“We hope to convince families of the benefits of educating boys with the talent and willingness to learn. This school will not just teach religion like most places for the lower orders, but practical things like mathematics and science. When the boys are grown they will be able to manage those mines, not just dig inside them. If the families are poor, the school will take the boys for no fees.”

“We?”

“The Society of Friends will manage it. Their schools are well respected. They have agreed to my ideas of what should be taught.”

He laughed. “I am sure that they will include a large dose of religion all the same. I approve, not that it did much good with me.”

She squeezed his hand. “You are hardly the devil in disguise.”

He looked directly at her. For a moment she experienced again that startling connection she had known in the church. She grew very conscious of the warmth of his palm and fingers encircling hers.

He looked away. “You do not know the half of it, Fleur. It would be a mistake for you to forget who I am.” He pointed to the north. “Is that one of the school’s buildings being constructed over there?”

She rose on her toes to see what he referred to. A rock below her shoe made her lose her balance. His arm caught her by the waist to steady her.

“No, that is Gregory’s land. He must be having a new cottage built. Our school’s property will stop right down here, on the field beyond the hedgerow, where those men are farming. I gave permission for a tenant to use the land and cottage until we begin building.”

She came down off her toes. His arm stayed around her. That scurrying excitement fluttered. He inspected the field and appeared unaware that he still held her.

“Tell me where you will put the buildings.”

“The main building will replace Aunt Peg’s house because there is already a well there. The outbuildings will go there and there.” She pointed out the spots and he leaned closer to follow her arm’s directions. He did not seem to notice their physical proximity.

She did. It distracted her so much that her voice faltered twice. The excitement kept growing, filling her with an amazing elation. She waited for the freezing fear, dreading its inevitable claim on her.

“Why not move all the buildings closer to the house?” he suggested. “Then you would have plenty of space nearby for a playing field. Boys need to do more than study.”

She said something about that being a good idea, but barely heard herself. The fear had not reared yet to kill the physical response now mesmerizing her.

The excitement awoke her senses. The breeze felt so fresh against her flushed skin, and the day looked so vividly clear. Dante’s strength, close but still a little removed, called to her. The light weight of his arm around her waist absorbed her attention.

He still appeared blandly oblivious.

A silly euphoria swept her, as if the blood tingling through her limbs had rushed to her head. A foolish smile stretched without her willing it.

She had to stop this. If not, she would embarrass herself and insult him, and he would not even know why it had happened. She did not want him concluding that he had to stay ten feet away from her for the rest of their lives.

She forced herself to step aside, light-headed still. His vague smile made her wonder if he had known what was happening but had been politely ignoring it.

“Come, I’ll show you a little drop in the next hill where there is a small waterfall,” she said.

The steep decline was more difficult than climbing up. Once again her skirt interfered and she stumbled. This time his hand reached too late. She began rolling.

She could have stopped herself, but her intoxicated senses loved the dizzying spin. It reminded her of when she was a girl and had deliberately climbed hills just so she could descend like this. Over and over she tumbled, laughing with delight at the childish thrill of it, watching grass, sky, and hedge flip past.

She stopped at the bottom of the rise, near the hedge. She could hear the farmers working on the other side in the field. She gazed up at the white mountains of puffy clouds while she caught her breath and savored a glorious lightness of spirit.

A shadow fell over her face. Dante stood beside her, looking down.

“It has been a lifetime since I did that,” she said, as she pushed up to sit. “I think that I will include this hill in the school’s property so the boys can play on it.”

He slipped off his frock coat and sat down. He laid his coat behind her.

“They can roll down the hill and then lie here and find animals in the clouds. My brothers and sisters and I used to do that when we were children.” He stretched out and pointed. “See, there is a dog.”

She angled her head. “Its nose is wrong. More of a cat.”

“No cat has a tail like that.”

She fell back on his coat and raised her arm. “That one over there could be a horse if it had three more legs.”

“It will be a unicorn soon if the breeze keeps stretching its head.”

They played the child’s game for a while, arguing and laughing. They lay side by side, placed almost identically to how they had been in the bed last night. Dante’s easy manner had returned, and that delighted her. One of the farmers had moved closer to the hedge. She could hear him humming.

“I see a bear in that distant cloud,” she said.

“I see a woman.”

“It has to be an animal, Dante.”

“I see a woman. A very beautiful woman, happy and free.”

She turned her head to find him up on his elbow, looking not at the sky but at her.

His expression sent her blood tingling again. The farmer began singing the song he had hummed, his low melody drifting on the breeze.

Dante reached out and stroked the back of his fingers on her cheek. Wonderful sensations shimmered out from his touch. No fear stopped their path.

“A lovely woman, bright-eyed with a child’s innocence, laughing in watery melodies.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off his beautiful face and luminous eyes. A man’s eyes, watching her with a man’s intensity. Waiting, no doubt, for her signal that he was crossing a line they had sworn not to approach.

She could not give it. She did not want to. The fear had miraculously not come and she wanted him to look at her like that, the way a man looks at a woman. She wanted him to touch her and give physical form to the connection she felt to him.

He rose on his arm and leaned over her, his head above hers, blocking the clouds. Expression serious and eyes fathomless, he watched his hand smooth down and gently encircle her neck. His thumb brushed a line along her jaw and chin before his fingers traced the skin at the top of her dress. Her breath caught at the force of her reaction to his slow, wandering caress. He looked into her eyes with a piercing acknowledgment of what he was doing to her.

“I am going to kiss you, pretty flower. Friends do, don’t they?”

She knew it would not be a friend’s kiss. The depths of his eyes warned her of that. She felt no fear at all, but only pulsing anticipation. The only thing that froze was time.

It was a wonderful kiss, more beautiful than she had ever imagined when she permitted herself to wonder. Warm and careful and restrained. Deep enough to speak his intentions, however, and long enough to make her body thrill.

He looked down at her while he caressed her hair and face. He knew exactly what she was experiencing, she had no doubt of that. This was Dante Duclairc. It would take more worldliness than she would ever possess to hide it from him.

He brushed kisses on her cheek and neck. Warm breath titillated her ear. He caressed gently across the sash of her gown, and the sensation of his hand on her stomach affected her whole body.

“If I frighten you, you must let me know.”

She nodded, but it would not happen. Not here, not now. She just knew that, and the freedom filled her with indescribable happiness. There could be no room for that cold dread when such warm pleasure and affection saturated every inch of her.

More kisses, building in demand, pulled something wild from her depths. Wandering caresses, learning the outline of her body, left her trembling. A power flowed from him, as if his masculinity wanted to overwhelm her.