Lord of Sin (18 page)

If she’d had any sense, she would have pushed him away. But she had none. She let him kiss her, and kissed him in return, captured by the joy of release.

Ioan broke off as quickly as he had begun. He held her a little away from him, breathing fast, his eyes afire with passion.

“You will not go,” he said. “I will take on any man who speaks ill of you.”

Deborah leaned her forehead against his chest. “Please, Ioan. Let me find my own way.”

“Never.” He cupped his work-roughened hand under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “If you must leave…” He swallowed. “Come with me, Deborah.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. “Come with you?”

Hot color washed his cheeks. “I can take care of you. I will find a good job. You will lack for nothing.”

But his words were halting, almost clumsy. He
didn’t believe what he was saying. He hadn’t the faith in himself; he was poor and likely to remain so in a world with little sympathy for paupers.

And she, the bastard daughter of a whore…how could she ever be worthy of
him?

His face burned under her fingertips. “Ioan, Ioan. If only things were different.”

He broke away. “Forgive me, Lady Orwell. I forgot my place.” He bowed stiffly. “If I may be of any further service to you, send word to the Bull and Thorn on Commercial Street.”

“Ioan! You mustn’t think…”

He didn’t wait to hear her explanation. She began to follow, faltered, stopped. What would be the point? They both knew that he had spoken without thinking.

They both knew that feelings weren’t enough. Not when she had rank and fortune, and he had his stubborn pride.

She went back into the servants’ hall, her throat aching with grief. She must leave tomorrow, as early as possible. Finish packing tonight. No time for sleep…

“Lady Orwell!”

Stella was still in a state of high excitement, clutching her skirts and twisting the fabric between her hands.

“What is it, Stella?” Deborah asked wearily.

“There is another gentleman to see you, your ladyship.”

Another gentleman? At this hour? “Send him away.”

“But it’s Mr. Melbyrne, your ladyship. He refuses to leave.”

Yet another disaster in the making. Deborah
almost fled up to her room, knowing that Felix would have never risked such scandal if he did not have some vital reason for calling after midnight.

“Show him into the drawing room,” she said.

The maid tripped away. Deborah followed more slowly, each step sucking her more deeply into despair.

Felix was on his feet when she entered the drawing room. His hat was very properly on the floor beside his chair, a concession to propriety almost laughable under the circumstances.

“Mr. Melbyrne,” she said, remaining by the door. “It was unwise for you to come here. Lady Charles is not—”

“Hang Lady Charles,” he exclaimed, his stare so wild as to be almost frightening. He made an aborted move toward her, shuffled his feet and suddenly dropped to one knee.

“My dear Deborah,” he began, “my very dear girl…will you do me the profound honor…” His voice deepened. “Will you make me the very happiest of men, and consent to give me your hand in marriage?”

Deborah’s knees buckled. She pushed Felix away when he would have helped her, and felt her way to the nearest chair.

“Forgive me,” Felix breathed, pacing back and forth before her chair. “I have…I have done this very clumsily. I have spent the entire afternoon and evening…” He stopped. “I did not wish to alarm you. It is only that—”

“I am not alarmed,” she said, forcing herself upright. “Only…I did not expect…”

“Surely you can never have doubted how much I adore you.” Felix knelt again, his hands spread. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you must be mine.”

Oh, disaster indeed. “We…we have hardly known each other—”

“We have known each other for eternity.” He reached for her hand, and she was compelled to let him take it. “My dearest, I know how strenuously Lord Donnington has sought to keep us apart. He could not prevail upon me. I have left the Forties. You are all I require for my perfect happiness.”

“Felix, I—”

“I have imposed upon you, I know. My love has got the best of me.” He grinned indulgently. “I will leave you now and return tomorrow, when you have had time to consider. But I know that when we are together again—”

“I cannot marry you, Felix.”

“It is only natural for you to hesitate. If you wish, I will wait another day. Even I can be patient with such a prize awaiting me.”

Deborah moaned inwardly. She should tell him the truth. She owed him that much.

But what truth? That he didn’t really know her at all? That he would surely turn his back on her if he knew of her true origins?

That she loved a man he would never see as anything but a poor, indigent commoner not fit to kiss her feet?

Courage or cowardice. She chose the latter. “It is too soon, Felix,” she whispered. “I…require more time.”

His mouth relaxed. “Of course! What an idiot I
have been. The incident at Whitechapel…it has disturbed you greatly.” He bent toward her, worried creases between his brows. “You are ill. I shall send my physician. He is an excellent man, and has some experience with women’s complaints.”

“That will not be necessary, Felix. I am not ill.”

“Of course you are. No woman should endure the experiences to which you have been exposed.”

It was too much. Deborah stood, compelling Felix to rise and back away.

“You must believe me,” she said as steadily as her trembling would allow. “I have no wish to marry. It has not been so long since Lawrence left me. I had never thought—”

He searched her eyes, and she witnessed the moment when he accepted that she was quite in earnest.

“Never thought?” he echoed. “You welcomed my attentions…and you never thought?”

“I thought we were friends.”

“Friends!” He spun around, strode toward the far wall, and spun back again. “I shall not be content with ‘friends,’ Deborah.” His anger dissolved into a proud sort of pleading. “I know you have money of your own, but I can give you so much more. We shall be the envy of London. I shall be the envy of the world.”

“It…it just isn’t possible, Felix.”

He stood stock-still. “Are you…Can it be possible that you are refusing me?”

God help me
.

“Yes. I must.”

It seemed then that he might grasp her arms and shake her. Instead, he took several deliberate steps away from her, as if she had become a monster.

“You have misled me,” he said hoarsely. “You have played me for a fool.”

“No, Felix. You have never been a fool. I accept all blame for this misunderstanding. I ask your forgiveness.”

He laughed. “Sinjin was right. He warned me not to be deceived by any woman. No, Lady Orwell, the misunderstanding was all mine.”

“Felix, I—”

He bowed stiffly, effectively silencing her second apology. “I shall leave you, Lady Orwell. I trust you will soon recover from your recent ordeal.”

With military precision he turned on his heel, snatched up his hat and marched out of the drawing room. The front door slammed. Deborah fell back into her chair.

It was over. A friendship she had treasured had ended, and it was all her fault.

But it would have come to an end in any case. Best that Felix feel fully justified in his rejection, and not be troubled by conflicting emotions over her past.

Deborah remained in the chair, listening to the long-case clock counting off the minutes. She knew she must have dozed, for when she opened her eyes morning sunlight was beginning to filter between the drapes. Some little time later she heard a carriage come to a stop outside, and Harold appeared to announce that Lady Charles had arrived.

Nuala came directly to her, unpinning her hat as she entered the drawing room.

“Deborah!” she exclaimed. “You look as though you have been up all night.”

There was no question of telling Nuala the full truth of what had occurred, however much Deborah wished she might. “How was your holiday?” she asked.

Nuala took a seat and studied Deborah’s face. “You are pale. What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” She heard the anger in her voice and tried to calm herself. “I might ask why you so suddenly disappeared for the second time in less than a fortnight.”

They stared at each other, both aware that a new tension had arisen between them. “I wished to visit my parents’ graves,” Nuala said without inflection.

Deborah flushed. “I am sorry. I had not meant—”

“I should have explained,” Nuala said. “I have been thinking about my family a great deal these days.”

As I have
. “Yes,” Deborah murmured. “I hope you are well?”

“Very well.” Nuala hesitated. “Have you seen Mr. Melbyrne?”

It seemed futile to conceal Felix’s visit, given that one of the servants would inform Nuala soon enough. “He called last night,” Deborah said.

“Indeed?”

“I have not been out in several days. He was concerned.”

“He called upon you at night merely to express concern?”

“Yes.” Suddenly the secrecy was too much to bear. “I shall not be spending time with him in future. We both think it best that we avoid encouraging the rumors—”

“That you are destined to be married?” Nuala got up, her agitation plain in the abruptness of her movements. “But it has always been obvious that you and he—” She broke off and fixed Deborah with a probing stare. “You have quarreled. Why?”

“We had a slight disagreement….”

“
He
told you that he wished to scotch the rumors,” Nuala said with some ferocity. “Lord Donnington—”

“Lord Donnington had nothing to do with it, Nuala. You must believe me.”

But she wasn’t listening. “It is my fault. I had thought…I had believed that Mr. Melbyrne had finally cast off the earl’s pernicious influence,” she said, her voice all frost and sleet. “It appears that I was mistaken.”

“It was
my
decision,” Deborah said, rising. “Mine alone.”

She might as well have been speaking to a stone wall. Nuala strode from the drawing room, matching Felix outrage for outrage, and clumped up the stairs.

Deborah closed her eyes. In attempting to keep her friends from becoming involved in her troubles, she had done exactly the opposite. If she were not a coward, she would tell Nuala everything.

If she were not a coward, she would find Ioan and beg him to take her with him.

She was lying sleepless in bed when she heard
Nuala leave the house. Deborah could guess where she was going. There would be a terrible row between two people who truly did belong together.

And it would all be for nothing.

Deborah turned her face into her pillow and wept.

S
INJIN WAS NOT AT HOME.

His butler was vague about his master’s whereabouts, the old man’s face revealing not the slightest surprise that a female caller should arrive, quite alone, at Lord Donnington’s door in broad daylight. He was apologetic that he couldn’t say when the earl might return, since Lord Donnington had an unpredictable schedule.

Nuala was not put off. Heedless of the rumor mill, she inquired at Sinjin’s club only to find that he had not put in an appearance that day. She rode her mare in Hyde Park and saw neither Sinjin nor Melbyrne. Leo Erskine, whom she met on Rotten Row, admitted that he had not seen his friend for two days.

She could feel Erskine’s stare peeling the skin from her back as she returned to Grosvenor Street. Let him speculate. Let all of Society think what it would.

There was one last place to look.

Dusk had fallen by the time Nuala called for the carriage. She banked her fury for the duration of the drive, trying to forget what Mrs. Simkin had told her.

“Beware yer anger, gal. It lies at the root of the evil you fight.”

But her anger was justified. She had been mistaken in thinking that Sinjin’s inexplicable behavior at their last meeting was a sort of madness he could not entirely control. It was all just a part of his game.

She had hoped their next encounter would be different. She had knelt before her parents’ graves, the mouse in her hand, and thought she had found the answer at last.

She had been wrong.

The carriage rattled to a stop outside the cottage on Circus Road. A light burned in an upstairs window. Nuala instructed Bremner to wait and stormed up to the door.

Sinjin answered her knock. It was evident at once that he was in a state of inebriation. His feet were bare. His hair was a wild mane, his face was unshaven, his shirt unbuttoned. The dark shadows under his eyes betrayed sleepless nights.

“Nuala?” he croaked.

She pushed past him into the entrance hall. “You could not be content with humiliating me, could you?” she snapped. “You never intended to keep our bargain!”

Sinjin passed his hand over his face. “Nuala…”

“If you wished to continue to punish me, you could have done so without ruining Deborah’s last chance at happiness.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong. I never intended—”

“Stop.” Tears gathered under her eyelids. “You succeeded in frightening me, Lord Donnington,” she said. “I do not know how you devised such a method
of doing so, but it was successful beyond your wildest dreams.”

A strange expression crossed his haggard face, one she almost might have called distress. Then his mouth set in a grim line, and all traces of drunkenness vanished.

“You had better sit down, Nuala,” he said.

“To what purpose? You have won. They have agreed to stop seeing each other.”

He took her arm in an iron grip and pulled her toward the drawing room. “You are going to listen to me, even if I have to tie you down to a chair.”

“If you try, Donnington, you will regret it.”

His eyes glinted. “Don’t test me, Lady Charles.”

“Or you shall try to hurt me again?”

He winced, but he didn’t let her go. He steered her into the room and set her firmly in a chair. “I have something to say to you, Nuala.”

“If you think you can explain…”

“I can’t. But I can apologize.”

His words stopped her short. “Deborah and Felix—”

“Hang Deborah and Felix.” He knelt before her, his hands gripping the armrests. “I did nothing to interfere with either of them. It’s you I…” He glanced away. “What happened that night…I wasn’t myself. You must believe that.”

The anger drained out of her, leaving her hollow with shock. He was
apologizing
to her.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he continued, looking up into her eyes. “It was as if someone else
were talking, doing things I…” He moved his hand over hers. “I don’t have an explanation. My behavior was unforgivable. Unconscionable.”

She remembered to breathe. “Are you saying…Do you wish to make me believe—”

“For God’s sake, Nuala. I wanted you. I wouldn’t have done anything to drive you away.”

Surely he was playing with her again, attempting to win her trust before betraying it once more. Yet her heart insisted that he was sincere, that his eyes held a deep regret and tenderness that couldn’t be feigned, even by such a practiced schemer.

But that other voice, that other face, so twisted with naked hate…

“Someone else?” she whispered.

“Maybe I
am
going mad.” He pushed away and stood, his jaw working with emotion. “That was how I felt. Mad.”

Nuala closed her eyes. Was it possible? Could Sinjin make himself so vulnerable and not mean what he said?

Was she going mad along with him?

“I would never harm you,” he said. “Never.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Nuala.” He knelt again, humble as he had never been humble before. “I don’t ask you to understand. I only ask that you not despise me. I assure you…” He swallowed. “I assure you that I will discover the root of this madness and drive it out. I won’t touch any woman until I can trust myself again.”

Any woman
. Of course. And why not? Their coming together had been strictly a matter of business.

“Has this happened before?” she asked in a still voice.

“No.” He seemed even more distressed than he had a moment ago. “Not before we…met in London.”

“Then some part of you must hate
me
.”

His jaw set. “You are not being reasonable, Nuala.”

“It seems we have both made mistakes,” she said, rising. “You in attempting to defy your natural contempt for me, and I in hoping that there might be peace between us.” She rose and walked swiftly toward the door.

Sinjin was there before her. “Don’t go, Nuala.”

His breath was warm on her face, his superbly masculine body too close, too powerful. “What is left to say?”

He lifted his hands, then let them fall. “What do
you
see when you look at me, Nuala? An enemy? Someone to hate?”

She raised her eyes to his face. “Do you truly care?”

“Haven’t I made that clear enough?”

“Why?”

He continued to gaze at her with an earnestness and intensity that held her more surely captive than his body did. “Answer my question,” he demanded softly.

“I don’t hate you, Sinjin. Only what you can become.”

“I swore that I would root out this…thing within me. Isn’t that enough?”

How could she expect him to succeed in such a project when she had been unable to root out her own memories, her own anger? “We are not meant to be
in one another’s company,” she said, fighting the urge to touch his haggard face. “I should never have come to London.”

“Do you think I still blame you for what happened at Donbridge? I don’t, Nuala. I admit my own responsibility in what happened to Giles. I was blinded by my…” He shook his head. “Will you accept that apology, at least?”

Nuala had to lean back against the door to stay on her feet. “No.
I
was arrogant. I made mistakes that cost a man his life and a woman her sanity.”

“Are we to argue about it again? Can we not both admit that we are far from perfect?”

Nuala struggled to still the mad whirling of her thoughts. She no longer knew who the real Sinjin was: this quiet man who, against his nature, humbled himself to her, or the violent devil she had met six nights ago.

She wanted to believe he was
this
man, that the other had been a reflection of some darker part of himself that he would swiftly overcome.

Oh, how she wanted to believe.

“Are we really so different, you and I?” he asked, caressing her fingers. “Can we not come to some accommodation?”

“Even if you and I…Even if we reach this accommodation, Felix and Deborah will continue to suffer.”

“I swear that I had nothing to do with their current separation. But if you are so certain that they belong together, I’ll help in any way I can.”

What came over her then had no explanation. She
kissed him. It was meant to be a simple kiss of gratitude and friendship, but it remained so only for the instant before Sinjin pulled her into his arms.

She told herself that she acted in defiance of her fear, and to prove that she was not ruled by anger and resentment. But when Sinjin took her hand and led her up the stairs, such rational convictions ceased to have any meaning. She was scarcely aware that he guided her to a different room this time, a room without a single exotic pillow. A place that was a refuge, a sanctuary, not the replica of a pasha’s harem bedchamber.

Nuala was sensible of the supreme vulnerability he was displaying in bringing her to his private chambers. As if he realized how much he might reveal of himself in the spare furnishings and decoration, he hesitated inside the door and clasped his hands behind his back.

“We need not continue,” he said very quietly. “You owe me nothing.”

“I know.” She drifted closer to him, touched his hand, his cheek. “No more negotiations, Sinjin. We meet here on equal terms.”

Standing on her toes, she kissed him again. He closed his eyes, brushed her lips lightly with his. The bed was only a few steps away. Somehow they made their way there, though Nuala could not remember how she had come to cross the room. Sinjin breathed into her hair and then nuzzled her ear as he began to unfasten her bodice. His fingers were expert on the hooks, and she knew he had done this countless times before.

But those times would not be like this. They could never be like this.

He laid the bodice on a chair and returned, his eyes hot with desire. Her skirts came next. They fell into a pool at her feet. Sinjin put his hands around her waist and lifted her free of them. She felt light as down in his grasp. Because she had not expected to come to him tonight, she had worn her corset; he turned her about and smoothly unlaced it. It joined the bodice on the chair. He turned her round again, his hands resting just at the top of her hips.

“I want to see you naked,” he whispered against her ear.

She was already growing wet, but his seductive voice brought on an ache that she was certain must match his own. She slid her hand down the front of his trousers and cupped it over the hard ridge beneath the wool. His hands tightened on her waist. She eased the buttons from their buttonholes and massaged him lightly.

Sinjin was having none of it. He pulled her hard against him and kissed her neck, sucking lightly on the skin until it began to tingle. Inch by inch he made his way down to the upper curve of her breasts. Nuala gasped in anticipation of feeling his mouth and tongue on her nipples. But he released her just long enough to pull the chemise over her head and toss it aside.

Nothing now stood between him and her naked flesh. He cupped her breasts in his palms, lifting them like ripe fruits to his lips. His tongue slid over her nipples with tantalizing slowness, tracing a path
around the aureoles. Nuala heard her own breath catching in her throat, her low moan of pleasure as he sucked her into his mouth. With quick, hungry tugs he suckled her, first one breast and then the other, rolling his tongue around and around her nipples.

“Sinjin,” she panted.

His mouth was too full to answer.

“I want…I don’t want to wait.”

He glanced up with a sly, secret smile. “You must be patient, my little witch.”

It was an endearment this time, not a curse. He continued to lick and suckle her while he unfastened her drawers. They fell, and he kicked them aside. Then he knelt and removed her shoes. The act was every bit as sensual as anything he had done before. She expected him to dispose of her stockings, as well, but he left them alone. She barely had a moment to register the thought when his pressed his mouth between her thighs.

His tongue was agile. Oh, how agile. It found its way between her folds, teased and flicked, slid over the center of her need. She was afraid she was about to come then and there, but he stopped just in time, came to his feet, and lifted her onto the bed. Without pause he spread her legs wide, knelt again, and took up where he had left off.

If he had not been so skilled, she would have lost herself completely. But he knew just how to keep her on the edge without letting her fall. He explored every wet, swollen inch of her, licking up the hot liquid that spilled out of her, circling her entrance
until she could think of nothing but having him fill her up. When he thrust his tongue inside her, she reached down for him and pulled him away.

“I need…I need all of you,” she gasped.

“You’ll have it,” he murmured.

“But you…you must be—”

“Hush.” But he rocked back, rose, and stripped off his shirt with an almost violent motion, never looking away from her face. He shed his trousers and drawers with equal alacrity.

He was…magnificent. There was simply no other word to describe his body: the broad shoulders, the well-defined muscle of his arms and chest, the lean waist and hips. And what displayed itself so boldly, arced high against his stomach. No, astonishing might be a better word.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked without an ounce of modesty.

“Oh…oh, yes. Do you?”

“I have never seen a woman like you.”

She wet her lips. “That is quite a compliment.”

“No.” His voice had grown hoarse. “It is the truth.” He moved to put his knee on the mattress, but she was faster. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, set her hands on his hips and took him into her mouth.

He stiffened and released a slow, harsh breath. He tangled his fingers in her hair as she kissed his silky head, slid her lips over it and curled her tongue over the remarkably smooth flesh. His breath hitched again when she took all of him into her mouth and suckled him, rendering him helpless under her caresses.

“Nuala…”

“Hmm?”

“I think you ought to…stop now.”