How To Seduce A Sinner

Chapter Fifteen

They arrived in London by late afternoon. Since Carter’s bachelor apartments were hardly a suitable place to bring a young bride and it was too far into the Season to find a town house to rent in an appropriate neighborhood, they went directly to the duke’s palatial mansion. It was not the arrangement that Dorothea would have preferred, but she was not consulted on the decision and it seemed waspish to complain.

The duke was not at home when they arrived, and they were informed by the very proper butler that he was not expected to return until very late that night. A circumstance that seemed to please rather than distress his son, which was understandable, given the strained relationship between the two.

And yet Dorothea could not imagine any members of her family acting in the same manner. If they were moving into one of her relatives’ homes, they would have been welcomed with open arms. She supposed her genuine puzzlement over the difference was merely another example of her provincial upbringing.

Though he might not have made the effort to personally greet them, the duke did not stint on their accommodations. They were given an entire wing of the house, which included separate apartments for each of them. There were two massive bedchambers, connected by a sitting room, separate dressing rooms, and a shared bathing room that contained the largest porcelain tub Dorothea had ever seen.

In addition, there was a study for Carter and a sunny private parlor for Dorothea, complete with upholstered furniture, two matching bookcases, and a desk. It was cozy and feminine, the perfect spot to entertain a few close female friends or write her letters.

Carter expressed regret that it was too late to begin a proper tour of the house, but Dorothea was relieved. She was tired from the journey, wound a bit tight with nerves, and feeling completely intimidated by the duke’s housekeeper. Mrs. Simpson’s London counterpart, the aptly named Mrs. Steele, possessed none of country housekeepers’ warmth or kindness. Instead, she was a sharp-eyed, thin-lipped woman of indeterminate age who seemed to lack the ability to smile. Even partially. Dorothea was hardly anxious to be in her company.

After being shown to her rooms, Dorothea dismissed the housekeeper, removed her bonnet, and tossed it on the bed. Her maid, Sarah, was traveling in the servants’ coach with their baggage and expected to arrive shortly. In the meantime, she would explore her immediate surroundings and hope that Carter would make an appearance soon. It all felt rather strange and lonely without him near.

She opened one of the several doors in her bedchamber and stepped into her private parlor. Shades of pink dominated the color scheme, which was unfortunate, since Dorothea was not particularly fond of pink. She made a mental note to see about having the draperies replaced at once, hoping that might be enough to change the overall atmosphere of the room. If not, the wallpaper would next fall victim to redecorating.

The antique furniture in the room was elegant and beautiful, but the arrangement of the pieces was awkward. Adding a second task in her mind, Dorothea squinted her eyes, trying to imagine how the writing desk would look near the windows and the upholstered chairs in front of the marble fireplace. That would be an easier fix than the draperies. All she would need was an hour or two and three strong, able-bodied footmen to get the room set to her preferences.

Leaving her private parlor, she threw open another door and walked into the sitting room adjoining her bedchamber with Carter’s. It was done in various shades of green that conveyed a calm, cozy element Dorothea immediately liked.

She strode through the room, heading directly toward the door that led to Carter’s chamber, and yanked it open. To her great disappointment, the room was empty.

Of course, this did make it the ideal opportunity to snoop about in private. The room was enormous, nearly twice the size of her own. Her bedchamber contained dainty furniture accented by soft feminine pastels with small floral patterns and stripes on the walls, curtains, bed linens, and rugs. Carter’s bedchamber was done in subdued, masculine tones of dark green, taupe, and gold. The furnishings were solid and heavy, crafted from the finest woods. Idly she ran her open palm over the carved mahogany bedpost, marveling at the size and beauty of the piece.

Her children would be conceived in this bed. She shivered with delight at the notion, imagining her husband’s strong, muscular, naked form, covered in a fine sheen of sweat as he labored to bring them both to climax. Finally sated, they would fall into a deep sleep, wrapped around each other, with Carter’s naked chest pressing into her back.

The door from the hallway unexpectedly opened and Dorothea smiled with anticipation. Gracious, all she need do was think about making love with her husband and he magically appeared. How perfectly marvelous!

“Was there something you needed, my lady?”

The voice was alarmingly rough and unfamiliar. Dorothea tried not to openly frown as she stared at her husband’s valet, a short, thin man with a decidedly nasal voice.

“I was looking for Lord Atwood.”

“I believe he is in the library.” The valet’s face remained impassive as walked to the mahogany wardrobe, opened it, and began to fuss with Carter’s clothing. After a long moment, the servant ceased his work and turned back to her. “Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Atwood?”

She compressed her lips into a tight line, wishing she had the nerve to tell the man to leave so she could be left in peace to continue her exploring. But her courage failed, for though his expression was blank, Dorothea felt certain the valet was silently smirking at her.

Gathering her dignity, and striving to look as much like a haughty noblewoman as possible, Dorothea turned, but a noise at the bedchamber door startled them both. Carter entered the room, then pulled up short, clearly confused to see his wife and valet in his bedchamber at the same time. “Is anything wrong?”

“Goodness, no,” Dorothea answered with a forced smile. “I was just wondering where you were.”

“Excuse me, my lord.” The valet bowed and hastened from the room.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Dorothea mumbled.

“Dunsford?”

“Yes, your valet. Though he is only a servant, he does have opinions, you know,” Dorothea muttered.

“Hmm. I’ve never actually thought much about it.”

There was a knock at the door, and at Carter’s command it opened. Dunsford reappeared with two footmen in tow, one carrying Carter’s luggage and the other holding a pitcher of steaming water.

The valet seemed momentarily startled to find her still in the room, but he lowered his gaze and began instructing the other servants as to where things should be placed. When all was set to his satisfaction, Dunsford dismissed the footmen, yet remained in the chamber.

Ignoring them both, the valet opened Carter’s wardrobe and began pulling out a selection of garments. It was at that moment that Dorothea realized the valet had chosen formal clothes more suitable for an evening away from home.

Dorothea’s mouth fell open. “You’re going out?”

The two men turned to stare at her, Carter’s face hardening into a mask while the valet’s frown was comically shocked. Apparently no one was supposed to have the audacity to question Lord Atwood about his comings and goings, even his wife.

“I will return at a more convenient time to finish my duties,” Dunsford declared in a disapproving tone before once again scuttling from the chamber.

“I am meeting Benton at my club,” Carter said when they were alone. He sat on one of the upholstered chairs near the fireplace and removed his boots. “We made these plans weeks ago.”

Dorothea folded her arms, trying to contain her agitation. “Can’t you break them?”

Carter leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the ottoman. “It would be terribly rude.”

Dorothea blinked and looked down at her slippers. “When will you return?” she inquired, hating herself for asking.

“Late, I expect. Or rather early morning.” He crossed his feet at the ankles. “There’s no need for you to wait up. I would hate to think I was disturbing your sleep.”

Disturbing her sleep? Was he joking? Dorothea did not bother to hide her disappointment. She sank down on an open corner of the ottoman and expelled a long sigh. “’Tis our first night in London. I had hoped we would spend it together.”

“Is there some place you specifically wish me to take you?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “I was hoping for a quiet evening at home.”

“Then you shall have your wish. I will instruct the staff to serve your dinner in your rooms.”

The very brief stab of joy Dorothea felt when she thought he had relented immediately faded. “But you won’t be joining me for that dinner,” she said slowly.

“No. As I said, I’ll be out with Benton,” Carter replied calmly, the expression in his eyes impossible to penetrate. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Dorothea, but I was unaware of your expectation when I made these plans.”

Ah, polite to the end. He was sorry that she misunderstood, but not at all sorry that he was leaving her alone. Dorothea was unsure what distressed her more: his plans to leave her for the evening or the blank expression on his face, as if he had no earthly idea why that would bother her.

She felt like snatching up a pillow and hitting him over the head with it.

“Can’t you see the viscount another night?”

He fixed her with a cool stare, and Dorothea knew she had crossed an invisible line. A spasm of disgust wrenched through her. Fearing she was close to losing her composure, she dug her fingernails bitingly into her palms and summoned every ounce of will she possessed to put a congenial expression on her face.

She was not going to be a martyr. She had entered this marriage without pretense or romantic expectations, as had Carter. It was not his fault that her feelings had so quickly and so deeply become engaged.

Though she supposed overall he could be less charming, less attractive, less appealing.

As if that would matter. The sad truth was that Dorothea knew she would love him no matter what the circumstances. Why, even at this moment, feeling hurt, angry, and frustrated, she still loved him. Though she didn’t like him all that much.

“Please give my warmest regards to Viscount Benton,” Dorothea said softly as she stood.

“I’m sure he will be delighted that you sought to remember him.”

This time Carter spoke kindly, as if he were trying to soften the blow, but his abrupt dismissal of her stung.

Oh, my, how things had changed so quickly. The easy banter and camaraderie they had developed over the past few weeks had indeed been left behind in the country.

Yet knowing she had said all that she could on the matter, she turned and left, closing the sitting room door behind her. In a childish fit of temper, her hand fumbled to find a key, for she dearly would have enjoyed loudly locking the door. But alas, even that gesture was denied her, for none was to be found.

Despite her lonely night, Dorothea’s optimistic spirit returned the following morning. Unfortunately, it did not last long. At breakfast she discovered her husband had already left the house and was not due to return until late afternoon. He again abandoned her in the evening, but encouraged her to accept one of the many invitations that had been sent.

Not wanting to spend another lonely night in her rooms, Dorothea sent a message to Lord and Lady Dardington and asked to be included in their theatre party. A seat was easily found for her in the marquess’s box. Though inwardly distressed, she spent the evening smiling so broadly that by the time she reached home her face hurt from the efforts.

By the third day in London she and her husband settled into a pattern that alternately frustrated and angered her.

The house was very large and she saw the duke infrequently, which pleased her. Alas, she also saw her husband infrequently, and that did not please her one bit. She understood that Carter had duties, responsibilities. She did not begrudge him those hours when he attended to matters of business, when he met with members of his political party, for he had begun to show a more active interest in the House of Lords. But she also knew he spent a great deal of time with his friends, engaging in the same pursuits he enjoyed before they had married. And that she did resent.

Her new status as the Marchioness of Atwood put her in great social demand. The invitations poured in, so many in fact that a secretary was hired to help her cope with the voluminous correspondence. Remembering well the lesson learned with Mrs. Snidely, Dorothea strove not to show favoritism to any one family or hostess. She therefore tried to accept as many invitations as possible, often attending three or even four events in one evening.

Regrettably, she did this for the most part without her husband. She knew it was the way of many society couples, but not all, and certainly not those that were newly married. On the rare occasion she accidentally encountered Carter at a ball or party, he would ask her to dance, make her smile with his witty observations, then graciously depart.

He always seemed pleased to see her, yet it was also apparent he had no qualms about leaving her. He did not deplore her company, nor did he seek it, even when he was at home. Worst of all, her courses had started, preventing them from engaging in a physical closeness.

Dorothea was frustrated with what she felt was the unnatural state of her marriage, especially at this early stage. She and Carter ran their lives on a parallel but separate course.

Within a few days, Dorothea grew tired of the endless social whirl. It was simply not as entertaining without Carter by her side. She toyed briefly with the idea of forsaking the parties and staying home at night, but feared she would become lonely shut away in her rooms with only a book or her embroidery to keep her company.

Unfortunately she was not even allowed to suffer this neglect in privacy, for these antics did not go unnoticed by the duke. Dorothea might have limited contact with her imposing father-in-law, yet it seemed every time she did see him he was quick to offer an unwanted comment.

Tonight was no exception. As she reached the landing on the center staircase, the duke appeared from the opposite wing. Dorothea blinked. Had he been lying in wait for her? It seemed so blatantly absurd, and yet his timing was too perfect for this to be mere happenstance.

“Where are you off to tonight?” the duke asked.

Dorothea tried to ignore his scrutinizing glare, but it was difficult. She always squirmed so desperately inside when he studied her, for it felt as if he was judging her, measuring her worth. Measuring and concluding she was worth very little.

“Lady Halifax is hosting a charity ball at Almack’s.”

“Will my son be there?”

“Probably not. He has no great affection for Lady Halifax or her charitable efforts.”

One corner of the duke’s mouth eased slightly upward. Most would consider it a hint of a smile. Dorothea knew better.

“Who is your escort?” he wanted to know.

“The major.”

“Again? I vow you see more of him than your husband.”

She snapped her gaze up to his, trembling, yet determined to hide the wound inflicted by the truth of his words. “That is hardly my choice.”

The duke grunted with impatience. “A clever woman knows how to keep a man by her side. And in her bed. I want to hold my heir in my arms before I die, young lady.”

“Then I advise you to watch your health most carefully, Your Grace, to ensure that you live for many, many years.” Reaching down, Dorothea gathered the skirt of her gown by her fingertips and held it above her evening slippers to prevent herself from tripping. The gesture also helped conceal the trembling of her hands. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m certain the major has arrived. I do not wish to be rude and keep him waiting.”

Dismissing the duke, she moved past him, ignoring the prickling sensation she felt on the nape of her neck. She glided down the main staircase gracefully, her head high, her back straight. Roddy, bless his heart, was indeed waiting in the front foyer and she practically fell into his arms.

She heard the duke’s deep, commanding voice call to her, but she kept moving, her mind focused on escaping. For a few hours at least, she was determined to forget the unhappy state of her circumstances.

Major Roddington’s heels clicked on the polished marbled floor as he paced impatiently in the foyer. He had been told Lady Atwood would be down shortly and been asked to wait. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, but being kept out of the private rooms of this particular house gnawed at his gut. It was a stark reminder of how he had failed to complete his task, of how the passing of time was only making this more difficult, more challenging.

Lady Atwood suddenly appeared, a tight smile of greeting on her face. Above her, Roddy could hear a voice of masculine discontent.

“Is that Lord Atwood shouting at you?” he asked.

“No, it’s the duke.”

She gestured toward a footman, who held out a silk evening cloak, but Roddy was no longer paying attention to her. At the sound of that same, low masculine voice, his head swung toward the landing and he felt a sudden, quick explosion of emotions. Close. He was so close.

He glanced up. At the sight of the elderly man clutching the banister with outstretched arms and frowning with such clear disapproval, a coldness like he had never felt seeped into Roddy’s bones. Oh, he had seen the duke before, but always from a great distance or in a very crowded room. This was the first time since he was a lad of fifteen that he had been so near the all-powerful Duke of Hansborough.

The temptation was almost too great. Yet Roddy straightened, his inner discipline overtaking his impulsive inclination to rush up the staircase and have his say. Now was not the time for confrontation.

“He sounds angry,” Roddy commented.

“I believe that is his normal tone.” She tugged on her evening gloves and hastened toward the door. “Shall we?”

Roddy’s eyes narrowed. He had come to know a bit about Dorothea over these last few days and he found her to be a pleasant, congenial woman. Her stiff, formal reticence was clearly out of character and obviously caused by the duke.

He escorted her silently from the house and assisted her into the carriage, then waited until the vehicle had rounded the corner before speaking. “Did you have a disagreement with the duke?”

She glanced over at him, her face pale in the moonlight. “His Grace finds much at fault with me. I fear the only way I shall ever gain his true approval is to present him with a grandson.”

She blushed and Roddy realized she felt embarrassed at discussing something so intensely personal with a man who was not her husband. It made him feel like a real cad for even bringing the subject up.

“Well, I hope you present him with a whole pack of boys, each as sour-tempered as his grandfather.”

She smiled, as he intended, and they let the matter drop. But the incident made Roddy start to wonder. Where was Atwood tonight? Why wasn’t he there to defend his bride, to shelter her from the duke’s barbs?

They were newly married, yet as far as Roddy could tell, Atwood spent most of his time away from his wife. He had seen him at Tattersall’s yesterday, the boxing club the day before, and a local gaming hell last night.

He knew it was society’s way for married couples to live separate lives, but this seemed to drift beyond acceptable standards. Roddy gritted his teeth and gazed out the window, deciding this was yet another prime example of how the wealthy, spoiled aristocracy did not appreciate the real treasures in their lives.

“I’m for home,” Benton announced as he threw down his losing hand of cards.

Peter Dawson smiled in appreciation and raked in the substantial pile of coins. “Are you sure you won’t play one more round?”

“No. I wish to leave before my pockets are totally empty.” Benton turned to Carter. “And what of you, Atwood? Are you done for the night? Ready to go home at last to your lovely bride?”

Carter felt his jaw twitch. It was uttered in jest, but the barb struck at the heart. Though nothing directly had been said, Carter knew his friends wondered why he was not at home with his wife, but instead spending all of his evenings, and most of his days, out with them.

In fact, his life was going on exactly as it had before he had married. Actually, a bit better, since he was no longer plagued by the duke to find himself a wife. So why didn’t he feel more content with the arrangement?

“Tell me, what is your opinion of love?” Carter asked.

The viscount paused in the act of putting on his coat, his expression curious. “Love of what? Drink? A new set of prime cattle? A pair of well-fitted, perfectly polished boots?”

“A woman,” Carter snorted. Perfectly polished boots, indeed.

Benton fell silent. “Dear God, don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with your wife?” he finally asked.

Carter shook his head. “No, but I fear she might fancy herself in love with me.”

Benton’s brow lifted skeptically. “There is little to fear. She is a reasonably intelligent creature, well, for a woman. She will come to her senses soon enough and realize her mistake.”

“Don’t listen to Benton,” Dawson interrupted. He stacked the deck of cards and left it in the center of the table. “I think it’s bloody marvelous. Lady Atwood is a fine woman. You deserve the happiness her love and affection will bring you.”

Was Dawson right? Should he just accept this gift of love and be content with it? But with love came the expectation of reciprocation, and therein lay the rub, for what Carter feared most was that he was incapable of loving her. Wholly, completely, the way she deserved.

She was his wife. He respected her. Adored her, really. They could build a solid, happy life together. It was what they agreed before they married, it was what they both wanted. And in his eyes, the volatile emotion of love seemed to threaten that stability.

Didn’t love take time to develop, time to grow? How could Dorothea be so sure, when he was so conflicted?

It made him feel weak and foolish not to know his mind, not to understand his own emotions. It made him feel unsure, unsteady, inept. He reasoned by keeping his distance from Dorothea these past few days, the problem would somehow sort itself out, the solution would become clear.

Alas, he had been wrong. Just because he refused to confront the dilemma did not mean it did not exist.

The biggest irony of all was that he cared for her too much, respected her too much to declare an undying love until he was certain it was what he truly felt.

Carter jerked to his feet. He signaled for his coat to no one specifically and a servant raced off to fetch the garment. The three friends parted ways outside the gaming club, entering their respective carriages. Carter’s mood was reflective on the ride back to the duke’s mansion.

The hour was late when he arrived home. Carter dismissed his valet the moment he entered the bedchamber. Dunsford had a hovering, fussy air about him tonight that Carter found particularly annoying. The valet left in a snit, and a few moments later there was a soft knock.

Carter turned toward the door, ready to bellow at his servant to stay the hell away, when the interior door to the shared sitting room opened and Dorothea glided into the room.

She was dressed for bed in a long blue satin nightgown that dipped low in front, exposing the plump roundness of her lovely breasts. Her hair was unbound, floating around her shoulders in a shimmering golden wave.

Carter’s groin tightened at the sight of her delicate, sensual beauty. He was hard before she made it halfway into the chamber.

“Forgive my intrusion.” Her hand went to her throat and he could see the slight trembling of her hand. “I waited up to tell you that I will be leaving in the morning. I’m going to visit my sister Gwen and will most likely spend a day or two with her and Jason.”

It took a moment for Carter to wrap his brain around her words. She was leaving him? No, that wasn’t what she said. She was visiting her sister. Gwendolyn. The pretty woman with the very pregnant belly. He slowly regained his breath. “Is there any news of her child?”

Her eyes widened as though she was surprised he remembered. “The baby is due to arrive at any time. Emma writes that Gwen is very cross and weepy and Jason is nearly out of his mind trying to hide his worry and keep her distracted.”

“It sounds as if you are needed.”

“I am.” She nodded her head. “Yet I confess it will also help me to feel useful.”

Her comment rankled, for it implied she felt useless here. His fault? Probably. “I’ll take you,” he said gruffly.

“There is no need. The duke has put his carriage at my disposal. The journey takes no more than a few hours, so his coachman and equipment will return in the same day. I can send word if I need transportation back to London, though I imagine my brother-in-law will be pleased to have me use his vehicle.”

Her independent, self-sufficient attitude irritated Carter. Which was ridiculous, since he had been the one to foster it upon her by his neglect.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said impulsively, fighting to keep his smile from turning predatory.

She lowered her gaze and her cheeks reddened. “My monthly courses are just ending.”

Ah, so that question was answered. He had wondered, but didn’t want to ask if she was carrying their child. The duke would be angry, but Carter didn’t care. Dorothea wasn’t breeding and he felt a rush of relief. Pregnancy was dangerous business for a woman.

“That doesn’t matter, especially since you are at the end of your cycle. We can be inventive.” He smiled coaxingly, but then noticed the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes, the fine lines of tension etched on her lovely face. Clearly she was tired, and here he was acting like a perfect ass. “Or we could just sleep together.”

“You wouldn’t mind having me in your bed just to sleep?”

His throat suddenly felt too tight to speak. Lord, he was a bounder if his wife believed he only wanted her around to satisfy his sexual urges.

“Come to bed, Dorothea.” He held out his hand.

For an instant she didn’t move. Then she drew in a long sigh and came close, stopping in front of him. “I have missed you, Carter.”

Her simple truth cut him deep. He might not be capable of loving her with the devotion and intensity she deserved, but he could show her that he did care. He could be kinder, more considerate toward her. It was the very least she deserved.

He blew out the candles and helped her into his bed. Tossing off his shirt and breeches, he climbed naked between the sheets and cradled her in his arms. Darkness surrounded them, forming a cocoon of peace. Carter kissed her temple and she snuggled close.

And in that moment, Carter knew a deep sense of peace. No matter what the state of their relationship, she belonged to him. She was his to hold and protect, to comfort and encourage. And that pleased him mightily.