Jordan, Nicole - Notorious 1 (3 page)

“They don’t, I suppose. Except that in claiming the Rutherford estates, you will take away their only means of support.”

“That is indeed unfortunate.” His tone conveyed no remorse.

Disheartened, Vanessa made another attempt to plead her case. “My lord, my brother is no gamester. He had no right to gamble away our family home.”

“Then he ought not to have done so.”

“As I understand it, you left him little choice. Surely you don’t deny deliberately challenging him to cards?”

“I don’t deny it. He may count himself fortunate I didn’t follow my first impulse and put a bullet through him.”

Vanessa felt the color drain from her face. Sinclair was known to be a crack shot and an expert swordsman. He had fought two duels that she was aware of, and doubtless more that she wasn’t.

“I wonder that you didn’t,” she murmured.

His jaw hardened. “A duel would only have compounded the scandal to my sister.”

“I’m not aware of every particular,” Vanessa said in a low voice, “but I do know of your sister’s injury.”

“Then you know she was crippled, perhaps for life.”

“Yes. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“Are you?” The terse question was cynical, even savage.

“Yes, as is my brother. Aubrey deeply regrets his actions toward your sister. They were cruel, unforgivable. The behavior of a spoiled, thoughtless youth.” When Lord Sinclair made no reply, Vanessa gave him a beseeching look. “I well know how selfish my brother can be. He’s young and a trifle wild. Surely a man of your reputation can understand that. Rumor has it that you’ve indulged in your fair share of wildness.”

“My character is not at issue here.”

“No, but

I entreat you to reconsider. My brother is a mere boy.”

“Obviously. A man would not send his sister to beg in his place.”

She started to protest that Aubrey had not sent her, but that wasn’t quite true. Certainly he hadn’t objected when she declared her intent to seek out Lord Sin.

Vanessa placed an imploring hand on the nobleman’s sleeve. “My lord, have you no mercy? No compassion at all?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Your brother is not deserving of compassion. He destroyed something precious of mine. And I intend to destroy him in turn.”

The declaration was cold, ruthless, implacable.

He glanced dismissively down at the slender hand that detained him. “My carriage awaits, Lady Wyndham. It is not my practice to keep my horses standing.”

Deliberately he stepped back. Then he turned away, leaving Vanessa to stare after his retreating back in dismay and despair.

Vanessa fiercely fought back tears as she entered the London town house that had been in her family for four generations. She had seldom cried during the unsavory period of her life when she was wed to a notorious libertine, or in the two difficult years following Sir Roger Wyndham’s death—and she would not cry now.

A hollowness in her heart, she climbed the stairs to the drawing room. Her brother had opened the London house for the Season, even though he could ill afford it.

Aubrey was waiting for her in the drawing room, anxiously pacing the carpet. For a moment Vanessa watched him, wondering how the loving boy she remembered from childhood had turned out so wild. But she knew the answer. The favorite and only son, he had been raised in unchecked license by parents who coddled and indulged him. The lack of discipline would doubtless prove his ruin.

“Well?” Aubrey asked the instant he spied her. “Did you see him?”

Aubrey was tall like herself and possessed similar coloring. His tawny, light brown hair was almost a shade of amber, while his dark eyes were luminous and could sparkle with laughter. Just now they held only anxiety.

“I contrived a meeting with Lord Sinclair, yes,” Vanessa replied, coming into the room. “He refused to speak to me once he discovered my connection to you.”

“Then I am lost,” Aubrey said hoarsely.

She wanted to dispute him. She wanted to console him, to wrap her arms around her brother and make his troubles vanish. But he was right. Indeed, they wereall lost. She sat down heavily on the blue brocade settee.

Aubrey flung himself into the wing chair beside her and buried his face in his hands. After a long moment, he asked quietly, “He refused even to negotiate?”

“We didn’t reach the point of discussing negotiations. He wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Damn and blast him

”

Not for the first time, Vanessa felt a surge of anger at her brother’s childish effort to shift the blame. “You can hardly expect Lord Sinclair to return the estates you gambled away so recklessly, simply because a stranger asked it of him.”

“He means to ruin me.”

“Can you blame him? His sister suffered a debilitating injury

at your hands, I might add. She may never walk again. Or have you so conveniently forgotten that small particular?”

“I haven’t forgotten!” Aubrey’s hands clenched in his hair. “Don’t you think I regret every moment of my foolish conduct?”

“What could possibly have possessed you to be so cruel to a young girl?”

“I don’t know.” When he raised his head, his dark eyes held grief and remorse. “It started merely as a lark, a wager. A means to earn a substantial sum from my gaming friends. With my pockets to let, I needed the funds. And perhaps we were a trifle

”

“Were what?”

“Bored.”

“Hunting in the country didn’t provide you enough pleasure? Cockfights and boxing matches weren’t sufficient entertainment?” Vanessa’s tone held a hard edge of ridicule. “So you had to ruin a young girl’s life. Destroy her reputation and make her a bedridden cripple.”

Aubrey’s grimace displayed agony. “I never intended it to go that far, you must believe me.”

“Then whatdid you intend?”

He took a deep breath. “I told you, to win a wager, simply that. When we met Miss Sinclair at an assembly

I suppose we’d all had too much claret before arriving. At first the discussion centered on how to get her away from her dragon of a chaperon, but somehow the goal turned more serious. I ended up wagering I could make her fall in love with me. Wooing her proved

far easier than I expected.” He hung his head. “Olivia had led such a sheltered life, she was eager for

affection.”

“So after some weeks of clandestine meetings, you lured Miss Sinclair to a posting inn with the promise of an elopement. You never intended an honorable marriage at all?”

“It would not have mattered how honorable my intentions. I could never have afforded to wed her, even had I wished to. She’s an heiress, but she won’t come into her fortune for three more years. Sinclair would cut her off without a penny if she wed without his permission.”

To his credit, Aubrey’s expression held shame. Vanessa sighed. She well knew how he chafed at his financial state.

But there was little point in bemoaning his lack of wealth, for it was a family failing.

Their father had been a poor manager with no head for business. Hoping his eldest daughter could repair the family fortunes by making a grand match, he’d convinced Vanessa to wed a young baronet who had squandered his vast inheritance and been killed in a senseless duel within the year. Upon her father’s death in a riding accident shortly afterward, Vanessa had willingly escaped London and returned home to live with her family.

She’d spent the two years since managing the household and attempting to persuade her ailing mother and two younger sisters to live within their humble means. Aubrey, however, was the chief problem, demanding funds to support his pleasures and depleting his remaining income on gaming and wenching.

But if they were deep in dun territory before, their situation was now dire.

“Perhaps Charlotte could make a match,” Aubrey suggested in a low voice.

“No! That is out of the question,” Vanessa said fiercely. Charlotte was only fifteen and Fanny thirteen. As long as she had a breath left in her body, her sisters would not be sold into marriage for wealth and position, as she had been.

“Then what do you propose?”

She rubbed her temples wearily. “Perhaps we can simply decline to vacate the premises. Lord Sinclair might find it distasteful having to call in the bailiffs.”

Aubrey shook his head. “My obligation to Lord Sin is a debt of honor. It must be paid, even if we all starve as a consequence.”

She stared at him as her anger rose again. “You’ve lost our home, our sole means of income, and all you can think about is your precious gentleman’s honor?”

“If I cannot pay, I might as well put a bullet to my head.”

“Aubrey, don’t speak that way!” she exclaimed sharply.

He seemed not to hear. “Perhaps I deserve a bullet. When she fell—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “—I thought I had killed her.”

His expression was tortured, distraught, and it frightened Vanessa. “Aubrey, I beg you—”

Abruptly relenting, she rose and went to kneel before him, despite her expensive gown. She took his hands in her own, finding them chilled. “We cannot change the past. We can only strive to be better in the future.”

After a long moment, he nodded. “Pray calm your fears, sweet sister. I don’t have the courage to end my life at my own hand. I haven’t your strength.”

Her heart aching for him, she attempted to divert the direction of his dark thoughts. “What do the doctors say about Miss Sinclair’s condition?”

He drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I was not allowed near her. I wish

I wish I could somehow make amends. That was my intent when I called on Lord Sinclair this week, the instant he returned to town. When he invited me to attend his club, I thought he might have forgiven me

What a fool I was.”

Aubrey forced a twisted smile. “I suppose I am fortunate he chose that means of revenge rather than challenging me to a duel. I deserve his wrath, I know. Had someone treated my own sisters so appallingly, I would have wished to kill him.”

Vanessa felt herself soften. Her brother was not a bad man, simply weak. And she loved him dearly. He was a scapegrace, true. But he had supported her through her difficult marriage; he had made her laugh at a time in her life when she found little cause for joy. And he seemed truly sorry for his abominable actions toward Lord Sinclair’s sister.

“We will think of something, Aubrey, I promise you. I won’t allow our mother and sisters to be thrown out on the street to starve.”

The pleading hope in his eyes was heartrending to see. “What can be done?”

“I don’t know, but I haven’t yet given up trying to persuade Lord Sinclair to see reason.”

“He wants vengeance.”

“I know.” She shivered, remembering the storm-gray eyes that had seemed to penetrate her very soul. His compelling image rose in her mind’s eye: elegant, virile, dangerous. The wicked Lord Sin was a man to be reckoned with.

“He is a heartless devil,” she murmured, “but I shan’t accept defeat just yet.”

With trepidation Vanessa stepped down from the hired hackney carriage to stand before the magnificent Sinclair residence in fashionable Mayfair. Shivering, she tugged the hood of her pelisse around her face, less for protection against the gray morning drizzle than to conceal her identity. A lady did not call at the home of a gentleman, especially one of Lord Sin’s infamous reputation.

Yet she was driven by desperation. Summoning all her willpower, Vanessa climbed the marble steps to the imposing front door. When a stately majordomo answered, she presented her card. Not even by a twitch of an eyebrow did the elderly servant display surprise at her presence.

“I will inquire if his lordship is in, my lady,” he intoned. “Would you wish to wait in the blue salon?”

She accepted the offer. Entering the salon, she drew back her hood but remained standing, barely noticing the elegance of her surroundings that bespoke wealth and taste. The gates of Hades would hold more appeal just now.

She despised licentious noblemen. And Damien Sinclair, Lord Sin, was a profligate of the first order. He was known to be a leader of the notorious Hellfire League, a fraternity of depravity for wealthy lords, patterned after the club of a similar name made infamous a half-century before.

Still, she would have to quell her distaste if she cherished any hope of saving the Rutherford estates.

In only a few moments, a young gentleman appeared in the salon. He bowed politely while surveying her curiously through his spectacles.

“Lady Wyndham? I am his lordship’s secretary, George Haskell. He asked me to inquire how I may be of service.”

“Is Lord Sinclair not at home?” she asked, unsurprised to be fobbed off on an employee.

“He is preparing to go out. I would be happy to assist you if I may.”

“I’m afraid that is not likely. I’ve come on a matter of some urgency, which only his lordship may deal with.” Her tremulous smile was apologetic but determined. “Will you tell him that I shall wait for him to come down?”

Mr. Haskell bowed and withdrew. He was back shortly, wearing a troubled frown.

“His lordship bade me inform you, my lady, that he will grant you a short interview

upstairs. If you will please follow me?”

She expected to be shown to a drawing room, but when they had climbed the wide staircase, the secretary led her down a wide hallway to a private chamber. With another bow, Haskell left her, shaking his head in evident disapproval.

The room was large, Vanessa saw as she entered, and was tastefully decorated in crimson and gold and rich mahogany furnishings. In the center of the vast chamber stood a huge bed, whose covers were still in a tangle.

Vanessa felt her heartbeat quicken. This was Lord Sin’s bedchamber.

“Do come in,” a lazy, sardonic voice drawled from the opposite side of the room.

Vanessa took a single step and stopped short. The wicked nobleman was shirtless, dressed only in breeches and boots. The expanse of bare skin was stunning. With wide shoulders, a broad chest corded with lean muscle, a hard flat stomach, and narrow hips, he had the physique of a Greek god, his muscularity suggesting his devotion to athletic sport. Add to that the fact that he was treacherously handsome, and her pulse went wild.