The Seduction

Chapter Four

Lulled by the sway of the well-sprung traveling coach, Vanessa allowed herself to relax against the velvet squabs. Seven hours of enforced intimacy with Damien Sinclair had taken a toll on her nerves.

They had spoken little on the journey north from London. Upon joining him in the carriage this morning, she had sensed his need for silence and readily complied. Now, however, Vanessa turned her head to observe her traveling companion. He was staring out the window at the passing Warwickshire landscape, engaged in his own private thoughts.

It was a mistake to regard him too closely, she realized. His handsome, noble profile still had the power to make her heart flutter, reminding her once again that she was out of her element in dealing with him.

For the hundredth time, Vanessa wondered what madness had led her to strike a wanton’s bargain with such a man. She had no illusions that he truly wanted her for his mistress. Far more likely, he wanted her as a pawn in his game of revenge.

She could understand his desire for vengeance, certainly. He wanted to strike back at the man who had seduced his sister, Vanessa knew, and she was a convenient tool. But she would make him regret forcing her to pay for her brother’s sins, she promised. He would not find her the submissive puppet he thought her.

His mood had seemed to darken as they drew closer to his country estate. But they were nearing their destination now, and she still knew little about the situation to which she had committed herself.

For a moment her own gaze lingered on the enchanting pastoral scene outside the carriage. The rolling English countryside was a patchwork quilt of crop fields and emerald green meadows, embroidered with hedgerows and copses of woodland. In the distance, draft horses lumbered along narrow lanes, past peacefully grazing sheep and cattle.

Finally, however, she summoned the courage to speak.

“If I am to be a companion to your sister,” Vanessa said quietly, “perhaps you should tell me something about her.”

Damien stirred, as if suddenly recalling her presence, and shifted his gaze to regard her with storm-gray eyes. “What do you wish to know?”

“What is she like in character and manner? What precisely is the present condition of her health? Anything that will allow me to better deal with her.”

His mouth curved with a hint of bitterness. “Her health? She is presently a cripple. She has no sensation in her lower limbs and will not make an attempt to leave her darkened room, or to use the invalid chair I had built for her. As for her character and manner…” His demeanor softened, as did his voice. “She was always the sweetest child in nature, and she grew into a lovely young lady, generous and unspoiled as one could wish.” He shook his head sardonically. “How that was possible with the Sinclair lineage is beyond me. She must be a changeling.”

Hearing the rough emotion in his voice, Vanessa felt an odd constriction in her throat. Perhaps she’d been mistaken to believe Lord Sin deplored being burdened by his crippled sister. The gentleness in his tone suggested he cared very deeply about her welfare.

It was strange to think of this notorious lord caring deeply for anything but his own pleasure.

He bent his head, rubbing one temple with elegant fingers, as if to ease the pain. “I bear part of the blame for her current misery. I should have been more vigilant in protecting her.”

He was silent for a moment. “I neglected her far too much, I realize that now. Our parents perished in a carriage accident when Olivia was ten years of age, and I took over the raising of her.” Sinclair grimaced. “What the devil do I know about rearing innocent young girls? I saw that she received an excellent education befitting a lady of wealth and rank, but other than the occasional visit home, I rarely saw her. I spent most of my time in town.”

“She is seventeen now?” Vanessa ventured gently.

“Eighteen, but she hasn’t had her come-out. I refused to bring her to London for the Season and a presentation at Court. Perhaps I was overly protective, but I thought she was too young.” He gave a soft, acrid laugh. “How I wish… But wishing is for fools, is it not?”

He took a slow, steady breath. “I never realized how much Olivia chafed at her restrictive life in the country. It made her vulnerable to the attentions of the first scoundrel who came along… men like your brother. She succumbed to his clandestine wooing like a pigeon ripe for plucking. She thought herself in love.”

The harsh inflection he placed on the word love made Vanessa wince, but she could find no ready reply. Perhaps Damien Sinclair’s bitterness was justified. She stifled the urge to express her sorrow yet again and instead asked, “What do the doctors say?”

“To pray for a miracle.” Damien turned to gaze out the window. “I did discover a physician in Oxfordshire who offered reason to hope. His radical views are widely condemned, but he suggested that, given the nature of the accident, Olivia’s spine may be only severely bruised, and that with aggressive treatment, she could recover at least partial use of her limbs in time. Perhaps it’s only desperation driving me to put my faith in a quack, but I am willing to risk being taken for a fool if there’s the slightest chance he could help her.”

“Sometimes it is wiser to ignore the so-called experts and follow your instincts,” Vanessa murmured.

When Damien’s gaze returned to her, she could see pain in the depths of those smoke-silver eyes. “If it were left to me, I would have commissioned Dr. Underhill to begin treatments at once, but Olivia has refused to allow him to attend her.”

“Why would she refuse? Does she dislike the man?”

“Their rapport isn’t the issue. The trouble is that she sees no point in making the attempt to improve her condition. As devastating as the physical impairment has been, the blow to her spirits was nearly as destructive. Not only did her heart suffer, but in Olivia’s eyes, her life is ruined- and perhaps it is.”

“The aborted elopement?”

His mouth hardened. “Indeed. It left her reputation in tatters and destroyed her chances to marry well.”

“She is still an heiress, is she not?”

“True, but the stain of scandal will always follow her and preclude her association in certain circles. I did my utmost to stifle the gossip. I put about the tale that Olivia had ridden to the coaching inn at Alcester to greet a visiting cousin, but met with a tragic accident there.” Damien clenched his teeth, as if reminded of his fury. “As soon as I was able, I called on the two young bloods who made the wager with your brother and secured their word to keep silent about the affair. But the rumors persisted.”

Vanessa nodded in sympathy but refrained from pointing out the obvious: A rakehell like Lord Sin attempting to quiet a scandal was like using oil to quench a fire. The methods he had probably chosen wouldn’t be helpful, either. In all likelihood he had threatened the two gentlemen with bodily harm before seeking out Aubrey in order to destroy him financially.

No one in his right senses would dare to cross the vengeful Lord Sin, but that didn’t mean he could silence the entire world.

“My worst mistake, however,” Damien continued in a low voice, “was my failure to reckon with the prudishness and cruelty of her governess-companion. That witch of a woman only heightened Livy’s sense of shame, making her feel tainted and oppressing her spirits even further. She was even encouraged to entertain thoughts of suicide.” His eyes locked with Vanessa’s. “Perhaps you can understand why I thought it crucial to find a replacement companion for my sister.”

Hearing the rawness of his quiet words, Vanessa looked at him in dismay. “Yes,” she replied in a whisper, regretting with all her heart the harm her reckless brother had caused poor young Olivia. “I understand. And I promise you, my lord, I will do everything in my power to help her.”

It was a long moment before the intensity of his gaze relented. Slowly Damien nodded and then turned his head once more to stare out the carriage window.

Some quarter hour later Vanessa felt the carriage slow and turn off the main road onto an avenue lined by stately elms.

“We have arrived,” her host informed her absently.

In the distance a glimmer of water captured Vanessa’s attention. When the carriage rounded a curve, she caught her breath at the vista. Rosewood obviously was not only the family home of a wealthy nobleman; it was a place of stunning beauty.

A shining lake lay in the center of the park, which was dotted with groves of beech and chestnut, while crowning a slight rise, an imposing estate built of mellow golden ironstone stood in magnificent glory. Vanessa spied a red deer grazing near the water’s edge before the carriage moved on and swung around the cobbled drive. The instant the conveyance came to a halt, several grooms and footmen leapt to assistance.

As Lord Sinclair helped Vanessa alight from the carriage, she was greeted by the sweet fragrance of roses that filled the soft, late-afternoon air.

“You must be fatigued from the long journey, Lady Wyndham,” he said in a voice strong enough to carry to his servants. “I shall have your trunks taken to your room at once.”

“Thank you, my lord. I would be glad to wash off my travel dust, but then perhaps you will introduce your sister. If it is not too late, we might even take tea together.”

Damien’s mouth curled in a frown. “If you can persuade Olivia to take tea, you will have accomplished more than I have. You’ll find she doesn’t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive.”

He escorted her up the marble stairway and into the house, where they were met by a formal staff. Lord Sinclair spoke briefly to a tall, ruddy-cheeked steward, whom he then introduced as Bellows.

“Lady Wyndham,” he added, “has graciously agreed to be our guest for a time and hopes to provide companionship to Miss Olivia.”

Vanessa realized the conversation was for the benefit of his employees, but she was grateful he had couched her position in such genteel terms.

Bellows in turn presented the stately butler, Croft, and the portly housekeeper, Mrs. Nesbit, who curtsied and beamed a good-natured smile. ““Tis an honor to have you at Rosewood, my lady.”

“We usually keep town hours when I’m at home,” Damien informed her, “with dinner served at eight. Mrs. Nesbit will show you to the Chalice Chamber, and when you are ready, I will introduce you to my sister.”

With a polite smile at Damien, Vanessa allowed Mrs. Nesbit to lead her upstairs. The housekeeper, it seemed, was the chatty sort, confiding in an affable tone that “young Miss Olivia, bless her soul, could do with a friend. If you can aid that dear child, we will all be forever indebted to you.”

The bedchamber that awaited Vanessa was a bit opulent for her taste, with its gold and green brocades and damasks and walls hung in watered silk. But it was elegant enough for a duchess… or a cherished mistress.

The room was immense, with a separate sitting area in addition to the curtained bed. Arrayed before the large fireplace were a plush chaise lounge and a pair of Chippendale wing chairs. For refreshment, decanters of brandy and port rested on a side table, while on another table, between two tall windows, stood an ornate silver cup embellished with intricately carved roses.

“Is that why the room is called the Chalice Chamber?” she asked curiously, indicating the cup.

“The very reason. That fancy silver “twas said to be a gift from Queen Elizabeth herself to the first Baron Sinclair.”

While the housekeeper made a quick tour of the room to check that all was in order, Vanessa went to the window and looked down. Evidently the three-story manor was made up of a vast central wing with two side wings surrounding a garden courtyard. To her surprise and delight, she discovered that the courtyard was ablaze with roses, and that the terraced gardens seemed to stretch far into the distance.

“How beautiful,” she murmured involuntarily.

“Indeed it is,” Mrs. Nesbit seconded. “His lordship has a way with roses, that he does.”

“His lordship? You can’t mean the present Baron Sinclair.”

“I do, my lady.”

“Damien Sinclair?”

“None other.” Mrs. Nesbit grinned. “These gardens were but a shadow of their present glory before he took an interest in them. You might be surprised to learn that botanists and scholars regularly come to study here, my lady, and famous artists as well. Most times in the summer you can’t stroll down a path without tripping over a stranger sketching or painting.”

“I confess, I am exceedingly surprised.”

“Well, “tis true. His lordship even has a strain or two named after him by some highbrowed horticulture society, not that he sought the honor. In any event, roses have been in the family since the Crusades.“

Vanessa remembered seeing the roses on the Sinclair coat of arms displayed on the coach door.

“If you will permit me, my lady, I’ll fetch warm water for you to wash with and light a fire to keep away the night chill. Would you like your tea served in the parlor or drawing room, or would you prefer a tray be brought here?”

“Here would be fine, but first I should like to meet Miss Olivia.”

“Certainly, my lady. I’ll take you to his lordship directly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nesbit.”

“Did an abigail accompany you, my lady?”

Vanessa shook her head. “No, I have no abigail with me.” While a lady’s maid would have lent her a measure of consequence and respectability, she could ill-afford personal servants all her own, nor did she want to take them away from her mother or sisters.

“If you wish,” the housekeeper offered, “I shall send Miss Olivia’s personal maid to help you dress for dinner.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

When she was alone, Vanessa turned back to the window to gaze down thoughtfully. Damien Sinclair was turning out to be a man of unexpected depth. And she wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or wary.

When Vanessa had freshened up, the housekeeper escorted her to a bedchamber in the main wing. The door had been left open, but the curtains were drawn and the room was dim, just as she’d been warned it would be.

In the faint light, she could see Damien sitting beside the bed, silently contemplating the invalid lying there. When Vanessa rapped softly on the door panel, he rose with a murmured “Come in.”

His features remained expressionless as she entered, as if he had clamped down on any show of emotion. His tone of voice, however, held a hint of anger. “Lady Wyndham, please allow me to present my sister, Olivia.”

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Vanessa could make out the young woman on the bed. The Honorable Olivia Sinclair was more striking than beautiful, with the same ebony hair and elegantly chiseled features as her older brother. Yet she had none of the intensity or vitality or aura of tightly leashed power that Damien Sinclair had in such abundance. Olivia’s complexion was pale, her expression wan and listless.

Her heart aching for the girl, Vanessa smiled gently and stretched out her hand. Asking “how do you do?” would have been totally inappropriate, so she said instead, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Olivia made no effort to take the proffered hand. She merely turned her head away.

“Olivia…” Lord Sinclair said in a low, warning voice.

Vanessa shook her head briefly. Olivia’s spirits not only had fallen into a decline, they seemed to be nonexistent. Yet haranguing her would serve no purpose.

“Might we have a few moments alone, my lord?”

His dark brows drew together as he glanced sharply at her, but he acquiesced. “If you wish.”

Vanessa waited until he had gone before taking the chair beside the bed and addressing Olivia in a friendly tone. “I wished to speak to you without your brother present. He is a formidable figure, is he not?”

There was a long silence. “I suppose some people might think so.” Her tone was flat, as if she could summon little interest in anything.

“But you do not?” Vanessa prodded gently, believing even a grudging response was better than none at all. When none was forthcoming, she added, “But then you have known him all your life, so you wouldn’t find him intimidating-”

“Lady Wyndham,” Olivia interrupted softly, turning her head to gaze at her, “I know my brother means well, but I have no need of a companion.”

Vanessa smiled easily and settled back in her chair, refusing to be defeated. “Perhaps not. And in your circumstances, I might feel similarly. It cannot be pleasant to have a stranger foisted upon you. But you and I do not have to remain strangers. Indeed, I hope we might become friends. If you don’t wish it, however, perhaps you might just allow me to attend you occasionally, to provide you with company.”

“I don’t wish to seem impolite, but I do not want any company.”

“Even so, you might agree to bear me company. Since I am to be here in the country for several weeks at least, I imagine I will grow exceedingly lonely with no one to talk to. Would you mind very much if I visited you occasionally? You wouldn’t have to speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence. And I could refrain from conversing with you. Then again, it might prove awkward with us each ignoring the other. We would resemble an old wedded couple who scarcely say a word to each other from dawn to dusk.”

The image brought the faintest hint of amusement to the girl’s lips, and Vanessa felt a small ray of hope that eventually she could get through to her.

“Of course,” she added casually, “you might come to find my companionship agreeable. I could read to you, comb your hair, share confidences… the sort of things sisters do.”

Olivia looked away, before saying sadly, almost wistfully, “I’ve never had a sister.”

“I have two of them, both younger. Come to think of it, you remind me a little of Fanny. She has your coloring, although I cannot tell about your eyes. Are they gray like your brother’s?”

There was a long pause. “Blue. My eyes are blue.”

“I’ve always wanted to have blue eyes. Mine are dark, like a horse’s. My brother always ribbed me unmercifully about them when we were children. He used to call me Old Ned, after an aging hack who had been turned out to pasture.”

When Olivia remained silent, Vanessa leaned forward in her chair. “I brought you a present.”

For the first time, Olivia showed a spark of interest. She cocked her head a degree. “A present? What is it?”

“Telling would spoil the pleasure, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

She held out the small package. “Would you care to open it, or shall I?”

“You do it.”

Vanessa carefully untied the ribbon and removed the tissue paper. Inside was an exquisite gold-embossed volume bound in calfskin. It had cost her dearly, a sum Vanessa could ill-afford, yet she considered it a small price to pay if one counted what her family owed this young girl.

She handed the book to Olivia, who peered at the cover but couldn’t seem to make out the title in the darkness.

“Should I light a lamp?”

“Yes… please.”

Vanessa obliged, but although she kept the flame low, Olivia shielded her eyes as if in pain. A moment later, however, her vision seemed to adjust.

“Oh…” The word was a whisper spoken almost reverently.

The gift was a collection of sonnets by William Shakespeare, chosen because Aubrey had said Olivia liked poetry.

Vanessa felt a sharp twinge of guilt at the reminder. She was here under false pretenses, and yet her subterfuge was necessary. She couldn’t reveal her connection to the man who had brought the girl low. Olivia would certainly never allow her close enough to help if she knew the truth. “Thank you, Lady Wyndham.”

“Do you think you could bring yourself to call me Vanessa?”

“Yes… Vanessa. Thank you.”

“So you enjoy Shakespeare?”

“Very much. And the edition is beautiful. I shall cherish your gift.”

“I would be happy to read to you sometime, if you would permit me.”

For a long moment Olivia regarded her, searching her face with intelligence and a quiet wisdom. “You are very persistent, I think.”

Vanessa smiled. “Quite. My mama says it is my greatest failing. But, like Old Ned, I have excessive reserves of endurance.”

To her delight, the two of them shared an intimate moment of accord.

“Where did you find so lovely a volume?” Olivia asked softly.

“At Hatchard’s bookshop in London. If you like, I shall take you there the next time you are in town.”

“I doubt I will be going to London anytime in the future,” the girl replied bitterly.

“No? Your brother told me he hoped to take you there next year for your come-out.” That wasn’t quite true, but Vanessa had no doubt that if Olivia expressed even the slightest interest, Damien would give her a dozen come-outs.

Olivia raised eyes that were full of pain. “How can I have a Season,” she asked, her voice low, desolate, “when I cannot walk, let alone dance?”

Her heart hurting, Vanessa reached out to take the girl’s hand. “My dear, I cannot pretend to know how difficult this all must be for you, but I do know you needn’t face it alone. You have people who care for you, who will help you through the worst of it, if you only let them.”

“I suppose Damien told you… what happened.”

“He told me that you met with a tragic accident which you in no way deserved.”

“I thought… he was angry with me… for behaving so foolishly.”

“No. If anything, he is angry at himself for not protecting you better. From what I’ve seen, your brother cherishes you. He would do anything in his power to help you get well.”

“He doesn’t cherish me, not really.” Olivia’s voice trembled. “He never paid me the slightest heed until my… accident. I’ve always been alone.”

“I know he regrets that. And you aren’t alone, Olivia. The servants obviously adore you, and I’m certain you have friends who are concerned for you.”

A tear spilled down her pale cheek. “Some of my friends called at first, but I… turned them all away. I didn’t wish them to see me like this.”

“That is understandable,” Vanessa said gently. “And were I in your place, I daresay I would have felt the same way. It would be easier simply to give up, to believe my life over, to lie on my couch and never have to face the world. It would be easier… but it would not be fair.”

“Fair?”

“To your brother. I cannot believe you have any notion how much he blames himself for letting this tragedy befall you.”

“He wasn’t to blame,” Olivia admitted in a low voice.

“You will never convince him of that, not as long as he can do nothing to help ease your misery. He is hurting for you, Olivia. Is that what you want?”

There was an obvious hesitation. “No…” she said reluctantly. “I don’t want Damien to hurt for me.”

“Then you might begin by agreeing to see the physician he has engaged for you. Even if you show little progress, you will at least have tried for his sake.”

When Olivia turned her face away, Vanessa felt her heart sink.

“There,” she murmured, “I believe I’ve said enough. I shan’t badger you any longer, but will leave you to rest.” She paused. “Would you like me to turn out the light before I go?”

“No…” Olivia said in a small voice. “Leave it on, please. I should like to read my sonnets.”

Vanessa felt the constricted feeling in her chest ease a little. She had made a tiny measure of progress, at least. And she had given the girl something to think about besides her sorrow and shame. Yet it would be a long, difficult task to bring Olivia Sinclair to any semblance of her former health or spirit.

She changed for dinner several hours later with the assistance of a maid whom the housekeeper sent. With inordinate care, Vanessa chose a high-waisted gown of powder blue silk, more for its demureness than for its admittedly flattering lines. Unfamiliar with her new role of rake’s mistress, she preferred to err on the side of modesty.

It was with renewed trepidation that she sought out the drawing room on the lower floor. Daylight was fading with the setting sun, and the moment was swiftly approaching when she would be required to fulfill the amorous duties she had agreed to.

She found her nemesis standing at one of the open French doors, staring out at the courtyard gardens. The soft golds and crimson of approaching twilight bathed the scene and entwined with the scent of roses to create a magical aura, yet Damien Sinclair did not seem to have passion on his mind. He stood still as a statue, his lean-muscled frame looking sleek and powerful in a tailored blue dinner jacket.

Drawn to him in spite of herself, Vanessa crossed the elegant room silently and came to stand beside him. He didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence, and yet she was certain of his awareness. Her own senses had taken on a fresh alertness, heightened by misgivings about what the evening would bring.

When at last he spoke in a low voice, the question he chose surprised her a little. “Do you like roses, Vanessa?”

“Very much. Your gardens are spectacular.” When he made no reply, she ventured her own comment. “I understand they are your own creation.”

“Not creation. Resurrection. In my younger days I rescued them from oblivion and my noble sire’s willful destruction.”

Hearing the edge of cynicism in his tone, Vanessa glanced up at Damien’s profile. The snowy white linen of his cravat seemed to accentuate the chiseled beauty of his face. Her pulse quickened, as it always did at his overwhelming nearness. And yet his mind was obviously not on her.

“So what is your assessment of my sister?” he asked with a casualness that seemed feigned.

She hesitated, not wanting to raise his hopes excessively. “I think you were correct. She is a deeply troubled young lady. Not only because of her physical infirmity, which is daunting enough in itself, but because she perceives little reason to hope for a better future. But I also believe it is too soon to despair.”

His gaze remained hooded as he stared out at the golden-hued beds of roses. “Olivia used to love roaming these paths. Now she won’t come near the gardens.”

“You care for her very much.” It wasn’t a question.

“If I could bear her suffering in her place, I would. Gladly.” The soft conviction in his voice left no room for doubt.

Vanessa looked away. She could not imagine this strong, vital man as an invalid. He was a man who would reach out and grasp fate and shape it to his own desires.

With a shake of his head, however, he seemed to shrug off his dour mood, while the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “But I am acting an uncongenial host. Forgive me.”

He turned to regard her. His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering on the modest cut of her neckline. His smile, when it came, was soft, apologetic, ripe with unconscious sensuality.

Vanessa shivered at the quivering feeling of intimate warmth that overcame her.

“Allow me to escort you in to dinner, my lady.”

When he offered his arm, she placed trembling fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the smaller of two dining rooms. Even so, the mahogany table was immense. A pair of tall, silver candelabra graced the center, while one end was laid with twin settings of crystal and china.

With reluctance, Vanessa took her seat at his lordship’s right, self-conscious about the intimacy of dining alone with him in such close proximity.

The Madeira wine proved delicious, the meal a treasure of culinary delights. The first two removes featured clear turtle soup with truffles, and a dish of smoked salmon with aspic, followed by a ragout of veal, roast venison, green peas, and cauliflower, and braised pigeons with mint sauce. Despite the long day, however, Vanessa found herself with little appetite.

The conversation remained desultory. While Lord Sinclair put himself out to be charming, narrating some interesting history of the house, Vanessa grew more and more quiet, responding in monosyllables and only picking at the food on her plate.

Her appetite had deserted her by the time the sweets were served, and her nerves were keenly on edge. She barely tasted the cheese brioche, the pineapple cream, or the almonds toasted with sugar and cinnamon.

“Are the dishes not to your taste, my lady?” Damien finally asked mildly. “Shall I reprimand the cook?”

Vanessa swallowed. “No… everything is delicious.” Her voice held a thin, breathless note.

“Then why have you scarcely touched a bite?”

Instead of replying directly, she murmured, “Shall I leave you to your port now, my lord?”

“We needn’t stand on ceremony with just the two of us.”

When Damien motioned to the footman to refill her wineglass for the last time and then dismissed the servants, she felt her panic rise. No doubt he wished to discuss the matter of her carnal duties and preferred to do it discreetly.

Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she indicated her wineglass, which had been filled to the brim. “Is it your strategy to ply me with wine, the better to render me susceptible to your advances?”

He studied her for a long moment. “When the time comes, angel, I will have no need of wine to render you susceptible, I assure you.” He smiled, a tender, charming smile. “In truth, I want you fully in command of all your senses. The better to enjoy the moment.”

An irrational surge of anger sparked through Vanessa. “Does my agitation amuse you, my lord? Does it please you to mock me?”

She flinched when he rose abruptly, but he merely went to the bellpull and rang for the butler. When Croft arrived almost instantaneously, Damien had settled in his chair once more.

“Be so kind as to send Mrs. Nesbit here, Croft.”

“Certainly, my lord,” the stately butler replied. “At once.”

Vanessa waited in bewilderment, wondering why he would summon the housekeeper.

Mrs. Nesbit, when she arrived, looked just as puzzled. “You rang, my lord?”

“Do you have the key to the Chalice Chamber?”

“Key, my lord?”

“Yes, to Lady Wyndham’s room. I presume you carry it on your ring?”

“Yes, my lord.” She patted the giant ring hanging from her waist. “I carry the keys to all the rooms of the house.”

“May I have it, please?”

The housekeeper searched her accumulation of keys for a moment. When she found the one in question, she handed it to his lordship.

“Is this the only key to that room?”

“To my knowledge, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nesbit, that will be all.”

When they were alone once more, Damien held out his hand to Vanessa, the key resting in his palm. “If it will make you feel safer, angel, you are welcome to keep this in your possession.”

She searched his handsome face, looking for any hint of deception. She found none. He seemed entirely serious.

“I will repeat, Vanessa. You needn’t fear my forcing myself on you,” he said softly. “Despite my numerous faults, I would never ravish an unwilling woman. You are safe from me for now.”

Vanessa swallowed. The silence stretched between them.

“Take it.”

The key was still warm from his palm as she closed her fingers around the smooth metal. “Thank you,” she murmured thickly.

“My pleasure.”

The word was a husky whisper. She froze when Damien reached up to touch her. His hand stilled for an instant, before he caressed her cheek with a gentle ringer.

The startling tenderness of the gesture held her immobile. This side of him, this sensitive, considerate side, contrasted so starkly with the heartless devil who had compelled her to become his mistress.

“I am just a man, no monster,” he murmured. “In time you will come to accept that.”

With a sigh then, Damien picked up his wineglass and leaned back in his chair. “Go to bed, angel.”

“To bed?”

His mouth twisted faintly at the hint of alarm in her tone. “Alone, love. You are free to retire alone. I won’t demand to share your bed. I’ll wait until you invite me.”

Vanessa rose on trembling legs. He meant to let her go.

“Sleep well.”

She made her escape before he could change his mind.

When she reached the Chalice Chamber, Vanessa shut the door behind her and leaned weakly against it. Damien had given her a reprieve. For tonight, at least, he didn’t mean to force her to fulfill their brazen bargain.

The key in her hand seemed to burn a brand in her flesh.

After a moment’s hesitation, she bolted the door and then placed the key on the dressing table. Then she turned to survey the elegant chamber, wondering what she should do.

The lamps had been lit and a fire burned cheerily in the grate, while the covers of the bed had been turned down invitingly. At the moment, however, she felt too restless to sleep or even to read.

The draperies had been closed against the night air, but she drew them wide, letting the moonlight stream into the room. For some time Vanessa stood at the window, watching the silent gardens below, letting the silver-white peace soothe her frayed nerves.

Finally, though, she turned away and put out the lamps.

In the semidarkness she removed her gown and donned a cambric nightdress, wondering wryly what Damien Sinclair would think of her modest attire. She supposed that when he did at last demand that she honor their bargain, he would require a filmy negligee or some such trifling costume.

The bed was soft and welcoming. The long journey and the tension of the evening had taken a greater toll than she realized, and before she knew it, Vanessa fell asleep.

She dreamed of him… of Lord Sin restlessly walking the night. Of Damien taking her in his arms, of his kissing her.

His kiss was tender and passionate, sweet and fiery all at once. It had the power to rob her of breath, to make her limbs melt like warm honey…

When she came awake, the delicate scent of roses greeted her while her body throbbed with a strange heat.

She couldn’t tell what had roused her from sleep. For a moment Vanessa lay there listening to the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth and the slow beat of her own heart.

Moonlight poured through the open draperies, and in the luminous glow, she realized something lay on the pillow beside her.

Hesitantly she reached out to touch it. It was a rose, slender, fragile, soft as velvet.

Wondering if she were still dreaming, she lifted her gaze to stare across the room… directly into the silver-smoke eyes of Damien Sinclair.