Sinful in Satin

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

 

He kissed her before she could respond. Before she could put him in his place. She fought mightily to permit that kiss to have no effect on her. Her thoughts scrambled as the sensations swept her body and the secret regret burst out of her heart, together threatening to drown all good sense and rational, practical resolve.

We must not. It will ruin everything. Ruin me, I fear, far worse than going to Anthony ever would.
Did she say it, amid the short gasps she made while his mouth burned her neck? She could not tell. He did not act as if he heard. Or else he did not care.

Always make them ask, Celia. Even with the first kiss.
This man was asking permission for nothing. He never had.

His embrace felt too good. Too welcome. His strength proved too exciting. She had not chosen to succumb to this desire they felt for each other, but she could not resist either. His fire began consuming her will, much as the flames had that paper.

RAVISHING IN RED
PROVOCATIVE IN PEARLS
SINFUL IN SATIN

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SINFUL IN SATIN

 

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY
Jove mass-market edition / October 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Madeline Hunter.

 

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T
he funeral of a whore will be sparsely attended, no matter how celebrated and noble the whore’s patrons might have been.

Celia Pennifold was therefore not surprised by the dearth of mourners at the funeral of her mother, Alessandra Northrope. Mostly women came, turned out in expensive black bombazine ensembles that would be discarded by day’s end. Courtesans all, they knew that Alessandra would not expect them to wear mourning clothes longer than a few hours. There were protectors awaiting their company, after all.

A few men were present too. Five young bloods hung in the background. From their disrespectful grins and jostling, Celia could see that four of them thought it a great joke to be here. The fifth, however, appeared to truly grieve for the beautiful, fascinating woman in the coffin.

Alessandra had often received declarations of love along with generous gifts. She had been kind enough not to let those profoundly moved gentlemen know that she had herself outgrown the need to cloak what she did in sentiment.

That was one thing that could be said about this particular whore, Celia thought. Dukes might write poems to her and swains might sing songs to her, but Alessandra Northrope had always known exactly who and what she was.

Would that she had allowed her daughter the same secure knowledge of self.

“Five carriages,” her friend Daphne’s voice whispered. The observation flowed below the droning prayer of the vicar. “I wonder who they are.”

Celia had noticed each carriage arrive. Hired and anonymous, their drawn blinds shielded their interiors from curious eyes. “They are prior patrons, I assume. Or current ones. Men of note who do not want to be seen.”

If prior ones, from how long ago? The possibilities distracted her from the ritual. She tried not to stare at those dark coaches. She resisted the urge to walk over to them and peer inside and see just who had arranged to say good-bye to Alessandra in this secret, formal way.

“The sixth one does not hold her patrons from any time,” Daphne said. “Audrianna and Verity are within. They are here for you, Celia, even if they do not show their faces.”

Celia appreciated the effort her dear friends had made. Since both had recently married men of good society, Audrianna and Verity had to show circumspection in matters like this. Even being known as a friend of Alessandra’s daughter could taint them.

Daphne, an independent widow, had neither a husband nor a social circle to appease. Yet Daphne had not truly shown her face either. A good deal of black netting flowed from her broad-brimmed black hat, obscuring her moonlight hair and perfectly pale face. She had insisted on accompanying Celia, however, even though Celia had advised she not.

Celia peered at the five carriages again. She saw small slits in the curtains of two, and tried hard to glimpse whatever she might through the openings. They were too far away, and only darkness showed.

Daphne’s hand subtly touched hers, reminding her to keep her thoughts on the prayers. Feeling guilty, Celia paid attention to the moment but not to the words. She allowed memories of her mother to come, some good and some painful, the most poignant ones those of the last few weeks. Alessandra’s illness had brought them together after five years of estrangement. Any angers from the past, any resentments and scars, had not mattered very much during those last sweet days.

Except one.

When the service ended and the women drifted away, Celia permitted her attention to turn to the carriages again. She looked directly at each one as it rolled past, both to acknowledge the respects of the invisible man inside, and to try to sense his presence so perhaps she would recognize it later.

“He was here,” she said to Daphne after all the carriages had gone. “I am sure of it.”

“He probably was.”

“He will perhaps write to me. Maybe now that she is gone, he will reveal himself.”

Daphne wound their arms together and escorted Celia away. “He may indeed.”

“You are only humoring me. You do not believe he will.”

“He has not thus far, so, no, I do not believe he will.”

Celia walked with more purpose. “It was cruel of her not to tell me. I have a right to know who my father is, but she dismissed my pleas.”

“I am sure that she had her reasons, Celia. Perhaps you should accept that she knew best on this. Perhaps keeping her own counsel on the matter allowed her to pass in peace.”

Celia blinked away tears for the woman she would never see again. “No doubt she thought she did what was best, in this as in everything else about my life. However, I will never accept that I will never know my father’s name.”

 

 

“I
t was just talk, of course. Vague rumors. I neverbelieved it myself.”

“But others did?” Jonathan peered through the slit in the blinds. Most of his mind assessed the mission that his uncle was giving him, but a small part of it remained alert to the little drama playing out near the grave.

“Perhaps some did. There was no proof, only patterns and coincidences. They caused those in power to be suspicious at a time when suspicions abounded, often without good cause. Hence the concern now. No man wants his name tied to hers too closely during those years, due to the talk, lest it cast him in a bad light unfairly.”

Uncle Edward imparted the necessary information in a lazy voice that reflected how minor he considered the entire matter. He also made it clear that he assumed Jonathan would accept this little charge, as he had so many others over the years.

Jonathan parted the blinds a little more. Over at the grave a clutch of women stood, all in black. Most of them would be recognizable to any man about town. Some were well-kept mistresses, and others were the most sought-after ladies of pleasure who chose their clients from among the ton. They lived on a little moon that closely circled the planet that best society inhabited, and formed a satellite world to which men of good birth traveled with some frequency.

Not all the women were notorious. Two of them seemed out of place. One, tall and willowy, remained invisible under veils hanging from the wide brim of her hat. The other, shorter and blond, wore no hat at all.

He squinted to see that second one’s face better. The distance made her vague, but, yes, it could well be Celia. Had she come out of sentiment, as a dutiful daughter? Or as her mother’s heir, the way Alessandra had planned and assumed? She stood proud and straight, and did not seem at all embarrassed to be surrounded by the kind of women who had been her mother’s only choice of friends.

“And if the rumors were accurate?” he asked Edward, not taking his eyes off that blond head. “What if I discover that Alessandra did pass pillow talk to the enemy?”

“The war is long over. You are not being asked to investigate, let alone expose such things. Just discover if she left any accounts or such, with names that might be made public. Bring them to me if you do.” He smiled a smile that had been the only warmth Jonathan had received from any of his blood relatives over the years. “It is very simple. A few days’ work at most.”

Jonathan finally gave his uncle his attention. “Why me, if it is so simple?”

“You knew her, didn’t you? You were friends with her.” Edward’s expression remained impassive, but Jonathan knew the mind behind those regular features and dark eyes too well to be fooled.

“Friends, yes. Not lovers, in case you are assuming that. I do not know her secrets. I also saw nothing to give credence to these rumors.”