Lord of Sin (19 page)

She chose not to take his suggestion, but continued to explore with the greatest satisfaction. When he began to tremble with the effort to control his body’s instinctive response, she withdrew with a final kiss.

“My God,” he said roughly. He stood very still a moment longer, his eyes tightly closed, and then bent to gather her up, laying her on the bed.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” he asked, stretching out beside her.

“No more than you’ve done to me.” She ran her palm over his muscular back.

He was clearly not satisfied with her answer. He trapped her mouth with his own, eased his body over hers, and settled between her parted thighs.

“I shall win this war,” he murmured, licking her neck as his hard, hot shaft slid along the inside of her thigh. She swallowed, determined not to beg him again. He was intent on tormenting her, rubbing himself against her without allowing so much of the tip of his erection to touch her wetness.

Part of her was braced for that evil voice to condemn her again. But it was Sinjin’s voice murmuring endearments, Sinjin’s breath caressing her face as he eased into her…an inch, no more, teasing her until she could no longer silence her desperate cries.

With a sigh he slipped deeper, little by little, until he was fully inside her. Then he stopped, barely breathing, letting her feel him, reveling in her tight
heat clasping him like a gentle fist. When he withdrew, Nuala gasped in protest.

Perhaps he decided to take pity then. Perhaps he could no longer bear the waiting himself. He lifted her bottom with one hand and plunged into her, so very fast and hard that she half rose from the bed with a cry of surprise. Then the rhythm took her, and she became a creature of pure sensation, feeling herself as much the possessor as the possessed.

Overcoming her shyness, Nuala watched Sinjin’s face as he moved inside her. There was nothing of the sophisticated, cynical rake in him now. He met her gaze, and all she saw was tenderness, a vulnerability he had so seldom revealed to her before.

And though his body trembled with the effort, Sinjin held back, focused on her pleasure, giving way only when she began to throb with her own release. Then he began to move urgently, almost violently, thrusting impossibly deep until he stiffened and shuddered and found his completion.

He remained inside her for a time, his face pressed into her shoulder. Only after his breathing had slowed did he ease himself away and lie beside her, his hand trailing over her waist. Nuala savored the heat of his body against hers, the overwhelming feeling that she had found her home at last.

“Sinjin,” she whispered. The words were so close, so very insistent. It would take so little effort to say them. So little courage, now that he had given her such a gift.

She turned toward him and lifted her hand to his
face. “Sinjin,” she murmured. “There is so much…so much I would like to…”

He leaned up on his elbow, staring down into her face with an almost grave expression. She faltered and gathered her courage again.

“Sinjin—”

Abruptly he rolled off the bed, flung on his dressing gown, and turned his back on her.

Nuala sat up, pulling the sheets up to her shoulders. “Sinjin?”

He didn’t turn. Nuala’s elation melted away. Something had gone wrong, but not with Sinjin’s behavior. He had been the perfect lover. Not once had that “other Sinjin” invaded their bliss.

It must be her. She had failed in some way she didn’t comprehend. She had disappointed him.
She
had not been a perfect lover, not like the experienced women he was used to dealing with.

Or perhaps he had taken what he wanted and had no further use for her. Their bargain was complete.

Silently she slipped from the bed, pulling the sheets with her, and searched for the undergarments Sinjin had flung on the floor. She prayed he would keep his back turned long enough for her to dress, or at least until she had put on sufficient clothing to shield her nakedness from his gaze.

She had pulled on her chemise and had just fastened her drawers when Sinjin spun to face her.

“This cannot continue,” he said roughly.

Nuala reached for the abandoned sheet. “I know.”

“No. You don’t.” He started toward her. She looked for the stranger in his eyes, but it wasn’t there.

“I realize that you have little regard for your reputation,” he continued, “but someone must.”

She nearly dropped the sheet. “When have you ever had regard for a woman’s reputation?”

“I’ve never ruined any woman’s good name,” he said. “The ladies I’ve known have been mature, free-willed and capable of being discreet.”

“As I haven’t been.” She draped the sheet over her shoulder and snatched up her petticoats. “Perhaps it is your own reputation you fear for.”

He laughed, little more than a bark. “Oh, yes, I fear for it. Damn Erskine.”

“What has Leo to do with—”

But he was moving again. He came to a halt within arm’s reach and dropped to one knee.

“Marry me, Nuala.”

T
HE SHOCK ON
N
UALA’S
face was so profound that Sinjin was half-convinced she might actually swoon.

“Marry you?” she whispered. “Marry
you?
”

Heat rushed into his face. He rose, his heart a leaden weight beneath his ribs.

“Did I not make myself clear?” he asked. “I am asking you to be my wife.”

Her gray eyes were all pupil, her skin pale enough to match the sheet she had dropped to the floor. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Don’t I?” He attempted a smile. “Is the idea so repulsive to you?”

She stretched out her hands, found the hassock in front of his favorite chair and collapsed onto it. “Repulsive?” she echoed. Color flooded back into her skin. “You cannot have changed so much.”

Pride was no easy thing to swallow. “Changed from our last meeting? Have I not proven—”

“You are…you were everything a woman could desire.”

“Then what is it, Nuala?” He held her gaze, refusing to let her escape. “Are you still afraid of me?”

She trembled. “No.”

“Do you doubt my sincerity?”

It was a question he should never have asked. The answer was plain in her eyes.

“Are you not the confirmed bachelor,” she said, “sworn not to bind yourself to any woman until you pass the age of forty?”

This…this was not what he had expected. They had just shared a passion such as neither one of them had ever known, a perfect union indescribable in its power. And yet now she was mocking him, after he had humbled himself again and again. Mocking this appalling, overwhelming weakness, this bizarre compulsion, that had brought him to such a pass.

“Do you know what they’re saying, Nuala?” he asked with far more heat than he had intended. “Have you heard the latest rumors?”

“Set yourself at ease, Lord Donnington. I knew the risks of coming to you. I take full responsibility for them.”

“Do you take responsibility for the talk that you have been intent on trapping me into marriage since the moment we met?”

She started up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Erskine told me.”

She fell back again. “Surely you can’t believe—”

“I don’t, but no denials from either of us will halt the rumors once they have taken root.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “And this is the reason you wish to marry me?” She blinked, but the obvious
effort to clear her eyes only spilled the tears over her cheeks. “Surely
you
have nothing to fear, if I am the one who is believed to be the pursuer. I have told you that you need not be concerned on
my
account. I can live with such rumors and worse. I am not alone in London. My friends will never desert me.”

Every feeling insisted that Sinjin go to her, take her in his arms, but he seemed unable to move. “Do you refuse me because you fear the Widows’ censure for breaking your vows?”

“No!” She took a breath. “No. But you have given me no good reason to…accede to your request.”

How could he so want to strangle her one moment and kiss her senseless the next?

“I will give you a good reason,” he said harshly. “We want each other. And we can have each other whenever we wish once we’re married.”

“We can have each other whenever we wish without the bonds of matrimony.”

“Is that really what you want, Nuala?” he said, closing the space between them. “Sneaking about whenever we meet, or dispensing entirely with Society’s approval by openly becoming my mistress?”

She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. “Do you think I haven’t the discipline to stay away?”

“I believe we have equal discipline in that regard…none whatsoever.”

“You seem to have forgotten one vital point. I possess certain abilities that you despise.”

“I hope that you can give them up.”

She went very white, leaped up and held the pet
ticoat to her hips with trembling hands. “So this proposal is about controlling me?”

A spark of that inexplicable rage coiled like a striking serpent in Sinjin’s chest. “If you had sufficient reason…”

“Sufficient reason?” She stepped into the petticoat and wrenched it up around her waist. “I do not even know…I cannot control…” She flung fiery hair out of her face. “
You
have no power to make it stop.”

“Are you so certain?” Sinjin struggled against the irrational anger. “Bloody—You won’t need your damned magic once you’re happily settled like any normal woman.” He lifted his hand in a gesture of conciliation. “I can make you happy, Nuala.”

Ignoring her corset and bustle, she turned her back and pulled on her overskirts. “We could never make each other happy.”

A roaring started up behind Sinjin’s ears, the voice of that
other
he had managed to hold at bay. He put more distance between himself and Nuala, half-afraid of what he might do.

“What if I’ve got you with child?” he asked.

“That is not your responsibility.”

“Like hell it’s not.”

“There will be no child.”

Sinjin felt as if he had been slapped by that same invisible hand she had used on him before. He didn’t dare speak for fear that his only words would be curses, damning her to Hell.

“You are refusing me, then,” he said.

“I must.” She shrugged into her bodice, fastened
the hooks and gathered her shoes. “I do not believe you will regret my decision tomorrow.” He heard her walk toward the door.

“Nuala.”

The door handle turned. “I am sorry, Sinjin.”

A vicious cruelty rose up in him, the black spectre of thwarted desires. “There is something you ought to know about your precious Lady Orwell.”

She turned. “You claimed you did not interfere—”

“I did not.” He opened the drawer to his bedside table and withdrew the folded newspaper. “One of my kitchen maids was perusing this paper this morning. My butler happened to find it in the servants’ hall and brought it to me.” He unfolded the paper. “It is only a gutter paper, not one that anyone in decent Society would ordinarily read. But its editors seem to rejoice in printing evil gossip about their betters.”

Nuala stiffened. “What has this to do with Lady Orwell?”

“It seems the editors have come by certain information regarding the lady’s birth.”

“What information?”

“That she is the illegitimate daughter of a Whitechapel whore.”

At first Nuala didn’t believe him; her doubt was clearly written on her face. She strode to meet him, all but snatched the paper from his hands and began searching the columns until she found the portion Sinjin had marked.

“These are flagrant lies,” she snapped. She threw the paper on the bed. “Who would say such evil things?”

“‘An anonymous source,’ according to the editor. But you’re quite right…it is almost certainly a tissue of lies. Nevertheless, if my maid and butler are aware of the story, it will eventually spread to Society.”

“Why…why would anyone do this? What possible motive…”

“You know Lady Orwell better than I. Has she enemies?”

“Enemies?” Nuala sat on the bed, pressing her hands together. “There has never been any question about her birth, her position…”

“She would hardly be the first by-blow to be raised as legitimate.”

Nuala stared at him blankly, not even taking offense at his harsh words. “Melbyrne must have learned about this contemptible story. Perhaps that is why they—” She blanched. “She must have known about this for days. I knew she was keeping secrets. It explains so much….”

“Does it? What if Lady Orwell knew of it all along?”

“
You
are contemptible. Of course she did not know…even if it were true, which it is not.”

“Then you still care about
her
reputation, even though you give no thought to your own.”

Nuala attempted to rise, nearly lost her balance and fended him off when he attempted to assist her. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me.”

Sinjin braced himself for some hostile manifestation of her magic, but she strode to the door, flung it open and charged down the stairs. The front door slammed.

The room spun around Sinjin like a whirligig. The
unconscionable things he had said lay on his tongue like acid. He truly believed himself mad, just as he’d admitted to Nuala. But why? He’d never behaved like such a monster before. Until he’d met her again, he had never deliberately frightened a woman, cursed at a woman, taken pleasure in hurting a woman.

All of it—the voice, the dreams, the poisonous words—had come after he’d met Nuala. And he had asked her to
marry
him. Something he would never have done had he been in his right mind.

He’d thought twice before that she had bewitched him. Each time he’d dismissed the idea as nonsense. But he could no longer hide behind the shield of rationality. What other explanation could there be for his aberrant behavior?

He sat heavily on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. What purpose could she possibly have for bewitching him? She was not vicious; he would have recognized that much. It would be an elaborate scheme indeed for her to deliberately allow him to cause her pain and then turn about and compel him to propose.

She is a witch. She means to drive you mad indeed. To humiliate you, to steal away your soul
.

Sinjin ground the heel of his palm into his forehead.
Be silent!

But perhaps that angry voice knew better than he did. Perhaps it was only the more perceptive part of his mind, speaking out to protect him. A madness with reason.

Yet that supposition provided no real answers.
Had he done her such wrong in blaming her for Giles’s death that she felt justified in destroying him? Why would she not have used her magic to overcome his opposition to Lady Orwell’s relationship with Melbyrne from the very beginning? She needn’t have made any kind of bargain with him at all, for her body or otherwise.

Unless…she didn’t know what she did. She had been shocked when she’d wielded her magic against him. Had that all been a ploy, or had it been genuine, as he had believed at the time?

If he were to follow that line of reasoning, he would have to conclude that she was innocent of any deliberate influence on him…that she’d told him no less than the truth when she’d admitted that even she didn’t fully understand what was happening to her.

If she does not, doesn’t that make her all the more dangerous?

Once again Sinjin drove that “other” from his mind. The fact was that he had no answers, and no way of determining what was real and what was not.

“You can’t go on as you are, you know
,” Mrs. Summerhayes had told him.
“There is one who plagues you. One who speaks with your voice. You must purge yourself, Lord Donnington, or he will ruin you both.”

Mad. Utterly insane. And yet there was something very wrong. As he had promised Nuala, he must get to the root of it. For his sake, and—if she were innocent—for hers.

I
N A DAZE
, N
UALA
instructed Bremner to drive her back to London at all speed. She had had two severe shocks this day, both so dizzying that even now she could scarcely comprehend them. What Bremner thought of her liaison with Lord Donnington was the least of her concerns.

Only one thing was important now. She must get to Deborah. She must learn how much the girl really knew, and help her to dispel these horrible rumors.

How could I have been such a fool?

Of all those who knew Deborah, no one should have been better equipped to recognize the extent of the young woman’s distress. Nuala had attributed Deborah’s desire for solitude to her unfortunate experience in Whitechapel; now she was certain that Deborah had been aware of the libel when they’d spoken last night. And she had not chosen to confide in Nuala.

Nor, Nuala suspected, had she confided in anyone else. How long
had
she known? Was it possible that there was some truth behind the story?
Could
Deborah have been born in Whitechapel and adopted by parents determined to conceal her true origins?

No. It wasn’t possible. She would have known. And she would not have deceived Society or Lord Orwell; such deception on her part was not to be conceived of.

Who had done this thing, and why? Chewing on the bitter thought, Nuala stepped out from the carriage, entered the house and paused in the entrance hall, forcing herself to think.

What would she say to Deborah? Admit that she
knew the truth of what had been printed in the scandal sheet? Assure the girl that such rumor-mongering would never affect her reputation?

She could not make such promises.

Gathering her courage, Nuala started for the stairs and had just begun to climb when Jacques, the footman Deborah had brought from her former household, intercepted her.

“Lady Charles,” he said, his face tight with strain.

Nuala’s stomach rolled over. “What is it, Jacques?”

“We did not know how to find you, your ladyship. We did not know she had gone until—”

“Gone? Who is gone?”

“Lady Orwell, your ladyship.” Jacques was pale, and he tugged over and over at his coat. “We…we suspected that her ladyship was not well. She had been in her rooms so long—” He hesitated, weighing the risks of speaking in so familiar a manner.

“It’s all right, Jacques,” she said, concealing her agitation. “You know that you can always speak freely.”

He nodded nervously. “We have all been worried about Lady Orwell, your ladyship. She had dismissed Stella for the day, and no one had seen her for hours….” He went from white to red. “She took several trunks with her. I am sorry, your ladyship.”

“It is not your fault,” Nuala said, her mind already hard at work. “You could not have stopped her. Do you know where she has gone?”

“No, your ladyship.” He swallowed. “We…didn’t think…”