The Sinner (30 page)

chapter
28

D
ante appears in good health,” Diane St. John said. “Your care of him made for a quick recovery.”

“I do not think my care made a great difference, but I enjoyed the duty,” Fleur said.

She had relished every minute of caring for him. Sitting with him, changing his bandages, sharing his relief when it became clear that the wound would not leave his shoulder or arm infirm—a mellow intimacy had developed between them the last two weeks. It astonished her how the love just kept getting richer. Deeper.

She had resented the frequent intrusions of his friends and family, because they robbed her of a few moments of bliss. Laclere in particular had been a trial because he visited for at least an hour every day, and she was banished from the sick room while the brothers talked.

She suspected that today’s unexpected onslaught of visitors indicated that the idyll of privacy was over for good.

Diane sat with Fleur in the drawing room, enjoying the sweet breezes of the early June afternoon. Diane had called with her husband, who now conversed with Dante in the library.

Not only the St. Johns had visited today. Three other women completed their circle in the drawing room. Charlotte had arrived first, then Bianca and Laclere, and finally the Duchess of Everdon and her husband. The men had gone off together, and other men, whom Fleur did not know, had been brought directly to the library upon arrival.

Fleur was trying not to worry about the business being conducted in that other chamber.

“I expect that they are settling matters,” she said to her friends. “Clarifying what happened up north, and explaining how Dante was shot.”

“Why do you think that?” Bianca asked.

“Mr. Hampton wore his solicitor’s face, for one thing. Then that last man who came appeared very official and sober. Dante told me that he would have to explain how it was and even stand trial. The deaths of two men cannot be ignored.”

“You should not worry,” Charlotte said. “There were witnesses, and the wound in my brother’s shoulder is evidence that he defended himself. The trial will only be a formality.”

“It is taking a long time for all of them to settle that. They have been in there an hour.”

“I am certain that whatever is transpiring in that library is only good news for you,” the duchess said.

Williams appeared at the door of the drawing room. He came over and bent low to Fleur’s ear. “Madame, your presence is requested in the library.”

Fleur swallowed hard. She did not doubt that Dante would be completely exonerated. The question was whether they could manage that without telling the whole story of Gregory and that cottage and Mr. Siddel’s blackmail and the Grand Project and—

She rose. To her surprise, the duchess and Bianca did as well.

“We will accompany you,” the duchess said. “I once faced a whole phalanx of men in a library, and it is not something a woman should have to endure without a few troops of her own by her side.”

“I hardly go to meet the enemy,” Fleur said as they walked to the library. All the same, she was grateful for the troops.

“All of those frock coats can be intimidating if there are no dresses present. When men are together alone, they have a tendency to start acting as if women are children, even if as individuals they know better. Don’t you agree, Bianca?”

“It is an ongoing battle that we fight, Sophia. Fortunately, it can be a pleasurable one.”

The two ladies giggled. Fleur let herself enjoy a few precious memories of the various engagements and pleasures her own marriage had produced.

The library doors swung and they entered. Adrian Burchard did not appear surprised to see his wife, but Laclere raised an eyebrow at Bianca.

Which she blithely ignored.

The duchess had been right. Facing a library full of frock coats was daunting. They all turned their attention on her. All except Dante. He sat in a chair off to one side, reading some document.

Mr. Hampton addressed her. “Madame, we need you to read these paperss and give your signature if you agree they are in order.”

She glanced to Dante. He had taken care of all of it. She would not have to answer questions and dissemble on the details. She had only to sign a statement accepting the events as laid out on paper.

Relieved, she walked to the desk. “Of course.”

She dipped a pen and began to sign.

“I advise you to read it very carefully, to make sure you accept its contents,” Mr. Hampton interrupted.

Swallowing a little sigh, she put the pen down. She was very sure that Dante had produced a story that she would find acceptable. All the same, she scanned the top sheet of paper.

The first paragraph stunned her.

It was not a statement regarding those events in Durham.

It was a partnership agreement regarding a proposed railroad in Durham.

Ten of the men in the library, including Laclere, Burchard, and St. John, were named as primary partners. So was she, with most of her shares to create a trust to endow her school. Additional shares would be sold to others later.

She looked at Dante, sitting off to the side, flipping through the pages of his copy.

He had done this. He had made it happen.

“Burchard and I will present the bill to Parliament that gains approval for it to go forward,” Laclere said.

She sat down in a chair and read the whole wonderful text. It laid out the risks as well as the benefits. When she got to that part, where the partners pledged their fortunes to debts incurred, she looked up at Bianca and the duchess.

It was their fortunes as well that their husbands pledged. They had accompanied her in here to announce that they approved.

“Mr. Tenet will be managing partner as the project goes forward,” Mr. Hampton explained, gesturing to an official, sober-looking man. “He has experience in such affairs.”

Mr. Tenet bowed. “I am honored to meet you, madame. May I say that the preparations that you put in place regarding the land and the surveying will enhance our success and our speed of construction.”

“Yes, well done,” St. John said.

They knew. Dante had told them it had been her idea. She accepted the nods and smiles of approval. Only the ones of the Duchess of Everdon and the Viscountess Laclere lacked a tinge of amazement.

“Speaking of land, these deeds will also have to be signed by both you and Mr. Duclairc,” Mr. Hampton said, tapping another stack of papers. “Please now state before these witnesses that your husband in no way coerces you to sell these properties deeded in your name.”

She gladly stated it. With a shaking hand, she signed everything.

Dante remained on the periphery, his expression very bland, allowing her to complete the ritual on her own.

When the last signature was completed, he rose and came over to sign as well.

She stood beside him, so excited that she could barely contain herself. She wanted to be rid of all these people so that she could embrace him the way she desperately wanted to do.

The duchess came to her rescue. “Gentlemen, let us join the ladies in the drawing room. Mr. Duclairc instructed that some appropriate refreshments be brought up for a little celebration.”

The frock coats filed out, congratulating one another. At the door Laclere looked back. He gave her a smile full of the familiarity of their years of friendship.

The look he then gave Dante was of a different sort. Not one of approval, but of admiration.

She threw her arms around Dante as soon as the door closed on them. “Thank you.” She did not know whether to laugh or cry, so she just held him tightly and pressed herself against his strong chest and let the heady joy overwhelm her.

He encompassed her with his arms. “I said you would have your school, Fleur. It wouldn’t do for it to lack the endowment you had planned.”

“They believe in the Grand Project, don’t they? Laclere and the others did not only do it to be kind, did they? I would not want—”

“None of the men in this chamber was ruled by sentiment. I explained your plan to my brother and showed him your map. He was sufficiently impressed that he brought it to St. John, who made some inquiries to confirm your judgments. After that, finding the others was easy. They count themselves fortunate to be a part of it.”

“So planning this is what was occupying you while you lay abed.”

“This, and counting the days until I could make love to you again.”

She looked up into his eyes. They contained the most exciting warmth. She could gaze in them forever and be a contented woman. There had always been honesty and truth in those lucid depths, ever since those first days in the cottage. Her heart had understood from the first that this was a man whom it would be an honor to love.

“I am so grateful that you accepted my proposal in the sponging house, Dante. I lied to myself and said it was a fair trade, my money for your protection. I really knew it was not.”

“It sounded very fair to me.”

She shook her head. “I do not think that I really did it to escape Gregory either. I did not want to lose you. I already loved you, only I could not call it that, not even in my heart, because I could not have that kind of love.”

“It is just as well you did not call it love. Admitting you married me for that would have landed you in Bedlam for certain.”

“If this is madness, let me never be sane.” She slid her hand behind his neck and pressed him down so she could kiss him. “I am so glad that we are completely married and I can completely love you.”

They shared a long kiss, full of the excitement of the day’s surprise and the anticipation of the private pleasures waiting when their guests left. Dante’s aura saturated her, but there was no danger in it any longer, because love flooded with it.

Her eyes dampened with the best kind of tears. She wished there were no guests in the drawing room and they could stay like this for hours, holding each other, enjoying the triumph of the day and their love, not separate in any way at all.

Dante took her face in his two hands. “I want you to know something. I was always glad that we married, Fleur. If you had never been able to give yourself to me, I would have still cherished you and the love I have for you. I would have never regretted becoming your husband.”

Cherished. Yes, that was the word for how she loved him. That was the word for the sweet unity she experienced in his affection and friendship and passion.

He gazed down with those mesmerizing, wonderful eyes. No one else in the world existed but the two of them.

Holding her face gently in his two palms, be kissed her twice, once on the forehead and then on the lips.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Madeline Hunter
is a nationally bestselling, award-winning author of historical romances. In 2003 she won the RITA award for best long historical romance, and her writing has been nominated for the RITA three times. Her novels have appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list, the Waldenbooks mass-market bestseller list, and the
New York Times
extended bestseller list. Her stories have garnered critical praise from
Publishers Weekly
and
Romantic Times
, and numerous online review sites. Madeline has a Ph.D. in art history, which she teaches at an eastern university. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons.

Also by Madeline Hunter

B
Y
A
RRANGEMENT

B
Y
P
OSSESSION

B
Y
D
ESIGN

T
HE
P
ROTECTOR

L
ORD OF A
T
HOUSAND
N
IGHTS

S
TEALING
H
EAVEN

T
HE
S
EDUCER

T
HE
S
AINT

T
HE
C
HARMER

And be sure to catch up on the first three glorious tales in Madeline Hunter’s “Seducer” series . . .

Madeline Hunter’s

THE SEDUCER

Daniel’s story

Now on Sale

THE SAINT

Vergil’s story

Now on Sale

and

THE CHARMER

Adrian’s story

Now on Sale

Read on for a preview . . .

THE SEDUCER

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S
he faced him, with her chestnut hair pouring down her lithe body. Her lips parted in confusion and her soulful eyes widened with shock. With that expression she almost looked as young as she claimed to be.

“Remove it,” he repeated.

“You cannot tell my age from . . . At sixteen I already . . .”

“A female does not stop maturing so early. There is a difference between the voice of a girl and that of a woman, and yours has a mature resonance. There is also a difference in their bodies, especially in the hips. The ones that I just saw struck me as too rounded for sixteen. Remove your garments so that I can check if my fleeting impression was correct.”

Her face flushed a deep red. Sparks of indignation flickered in her dark eyes. He half-expected her to start disrobing and call his bluff.

Then the fires disappeared and her gaze turned cool.

She suddenly reminded him of her father. There was no reason why the hell that should bother him, but it always had, and he abruptly lost interest in the game he had initiated with her.

“I am twenty years old.”

She did not sound like someone who had just been outflanked. Her tone suggested that she had made some decision.

A tiny spike of caution stabbed him.

“Does Madame Leblanc know your true age?”

“She never asked my age when I came. I was small and unschooled and put with the youngest girls. However, she can count the years.”

“But she never raised the question of your future with me.”

“It was not in her interest to do so. You continued paying the fees. I progressed through the curriculum quicker than most. Three years ago I moved to the front of the schoolroom and began teaching what I had been taught.”

“Very convenient for Madame Leblanc. However, you also never raised the question. In fact, you have lied to me about it before, and just did again.”

“I have seen girls leave at eighteen. I did not think you would let me stay here if you knew I had come of age. So when you asked, I gave you the same age for several years before getting older again.”

She had been very clever, Daniel realized. More clever than one expected of a young girl.

He made the annual trips to this school with dark, soul-churning resentment. They served as sharp announcements of duties delayed and hungers unfed, of time passing and of quests unfulfilled. His responsibility here only reminded him that there would be no peace until he finished what he had started years ago. Even as he talked with her each year in this study, he blocked most of his mind to her.

She had seen his self-absorption as indifference and taken advantage of it.

She blushed prettily at her admission of guilt. “I apologize for the deception, but this is the only home I have known. I have friends here, and a family of sorts.”

Home. Family.
A small, wistful smile accompanied those words.

She had been willing to take a whipping to keep what little she had of both those things.

He instantly wished that he had not let curiosity follow its course. Looking at her pretty face, he had forgotten whom he dealt with. For a few moments there he had been a man toying with an attractive woman and enjoying her dismay far too much.

“We will forget this conversation, mam’selle. You can indeed stay. We will say nothing about your true age, and I will continue sending the fees. In time, Madame Leblanc will probably begin compensating you for your duties and you will officially move to the front of the schoolroom.”

She strolled around the chamber, absently touching the glassed bookcase and the velvet prie-dieu. “It is tempting, I will not deny it. But the book . . . Madame Oiseau . . . It cannot be the same now. Sometimes events conspire to force one to do what should be done.” Her ambling brought her back to the desk. “No, it is long past time for me to leave here. I must ask for your help, however. Very little, I promise you. I am a good teacher in the subjects expected of a governess. If you could aid me in securing a position, I would be grateful.”

“I expect that is possible. I know some families in Paris who—”

“I would prefer London.”

She said it quickly and firmly enough that his instincts tightened.

How much did she remember?

“I think that I can get better terms in London,” she said. “They will think that I am French. That should count for something.”

They will think that I am French.
Clearly she had remembered the basics.

“Paris would be easier.”

“It must be London. If you will not help me, I will manage on my own.”

He pictured her arriving in London unprotected and unsupervised. She would get into trouble immediately.

And get him into trouble eventually.

“I cannot permit that.”

“What you will permit is not of consequence, m’sieur. I am in this school by your charity, I know that. But I am of an age when I daresay that you have no further obligation to me, nor I to you. If events have forced courage on me, then I shall be courageous. I must find my life, and I intend to go to London.”

I must find my life.
His caution sharpened to a sword’s edge.

As often happened, that produced a mental alertness that instantly clarified certain things. His mind neatly transformed an unexpected complication into an opportunity. One that might salve the hunger and finish the quest.

It stood facing him, waiting for his response. Proud. Determined. But not nearly so confident as she posed. Not nearly so brave.

Sometimes events conspire to force one to do what should be done.

How true.

How much did she remember? It would not matter. And if, as he suspected, she hoped to learn all of it, it would be over before she even came close. In the meantime he could keep an eye on her.

He studied her lithe frame and the body vaguely apparent beneath the sack. He pictured her in a pale gown of the latest fashion. Something both alluring and demure. Her hair up and a single, fine jewel at her neck, with those soulful eyes gazing out of her porcelain, unpainted face. Lovely, but young. Fresh and vulnerable, but not a silly schoolgirl.

Yes, she would do. Splendidly, in fact.

“I will speak with Madame Leblanc and explain that you will leave with me today. We will discuss the details of finding you a position when we get to Paris.”

THE SAINT

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T
hey took a more direct route back. Feeling more secure on the sidesaddle now, Bianca galloped through the park and did not slow when they entered the woods. Rosy sunlight dappled through the branches, creating marvelous blurred blotches while she sped along. The visual effect distracted her and she was unprepared when suddenly, inexplicably, her horse violently reared.

A different blur now, of trees and ground swirling while she struggled to control the animal. It acted berserk, and twisted on its hind legs. The sidesaddle could not hold her. She landed on her stomach with an impact that dazed her senses.

More shocking was the weight immediately pressing her back, and the forearms bracing the ground on either side of her head. Vergil was on top of her, covering her back and head with his body. She struggled against him with indignation and opened her mouth to protest.

A crack split the morning quiet. Vergil pressed firmly between her shoulders and pushed her back down into the dirt.

“Watch your fire,” he shouted angrily in the direction of the sound. His right hand grasped the ends of reins and both horses whinnied and pranced.

She suddenly did not care that they must look ridiculous, sprawled together like this. “Who would be shooting?”

“Poachers, most likely after fowl. Very bold of them to use guns instead of traps. They would only dare it in early morning. We are several miles from the house and they expect the family to still be abed.”

Another crack rang. This time she heard a little
thump
as the ball landed in a tree to their left. The horses reared and almost broke loose. Vergil cursed and shouted again.

He still pressed against her, his weight all along her back. His breath tickled her nape. The cloth of his sleeves flanked her cheeks, brushing them softly.

She did not feel in danger at all, but secure and protected in the warmest way. The intimate proximity kindled a glowing response in her. She inhaled his scent of soap and leather, and a strange little flutter scurried from her heart to her stomach.

“Now you see why you should not ride at this hour. It is dangerous,” he said.

“
You
were going to ride.”

“That is different.” The words were spoken near her ear, as if he had moved his head closer. He had her hugging the ground, her chin crushed in the leaves and soil. The warm breeze of his breath caressed her temple, making that flutter beat its wings furiously.

He rose up but he did not move away completely. He still hovered. Something she could not name poured out of him and into her. It frightened her. The flutter rose and filled her chest.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, right into his eyes. No one in her life had ever looked at her so . . . specifically. At least not from this close. That gaze seemed to penetrate right into her mind and explore at will.

She did not feel protected and secure anymore. Rather the opposite. The flutters multiplied and beat a frantic, humming rhythm, taking over her body and limbs. Wings of warning. And excitement.

His tight expression made him astonishingly handsome. He pushed away from the ground and knelt to offer his hand, to help her to a sitting position. “Did the fall hurt you?”

She moved her limbs gingerly. “It just knocked the breath out of me. I was not really thrown, but I will be a little sore in the morning.” She scrambled to rise. “As guardians go, you are superior. Not many men would throw their bodies between a musket ball and a woman whom they barely know.”

“All honorable Englishmen would do so, Miss Kenwood.”

They walked the horses for a while to get them calm, then rode the last miles back to the house. His silent company unsettled her and that strange excitement still hummed. At the stables, he swung down and walked over to help her dismount. She paused when his arms reached up to guide her.

He noticed her hesitation. His blue eyes met hers in a most startling manner. She became breathless and incapable of looking away.

Strong fingers closed around her waist and lifted her down. It seemed to take a long time for him to release her, a stretched moment when he held her mere inches from himself. The subtle pressure of his hands and the closeness of his tall body shook her.

“Thank you. I enjoyed the ride very much.” She collected her composure and turned away.

“I am glad that you did, especially since it will be your last one.”

She whirled around to face him. “Are you saying I can never ride while I am here?”

“Of course you can, with company and later in the day. However, I will inform the grooms that you are not to be given a horse this early again, nor any time when you plan to go alone.” He acted as imperious and calm as ever, but a tense power surged across the ground at her. “Nor are you to arrange any more morning assignations with your cousin Nigel. You may see him when he calls here, or if Penelope decides to call on him.”

Assignations? His imagination had explored those ambiguities more thoroughly than she had intended.

She walked away without correcting him.

Let him think the worst.

THE CHARMER

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—May 1831

A
drian crossed the drawing room’s threshold and found himself in the middle of an Arab harem.

Women swathed in colorful pantaloons and veils lounged beside men dressed in flowing robes. A fortune in silk billowed down from the high, frescoed ceiling, forming a massive tent. Two tiger skins stretched over the pastel tapestry rugs, and bejeweled pillows and throws buried settees and chairs. An exotic, heavy scent drifted under those of incense and perfume. Hashish. In the darkest corners some men kissed and fondled their ladies, but no outright orgy had ensued.

Yet.

A man on a mission, with no interest in this type of diversion, Adrian walked slowly through the costumed bodies, looking for a female who fit the description of the Duchess of Everdon.

He noticed a canopied corner that appeared to be the place of honor. He aimed for it, ignoring the women who looked his way and smiled invitingly.

The canopy draped a small dais holding a chaise longue. A woman rested on it in a man’s arms. Her eyes were closed, and the man was plying her with wine. Adrian’s card had fallen ignobly to the floor from her lax fingers.