The Seduction

Chapter Six

Another rose lay on her pillow when she awakened. Slowly coming to consciousness, Vanessa reached out to touch the velvet petals with a fingertip. Last night’s bloom had been bloodred. This one looked almost silver in the moonlight, with faint striations of what might be coral along the veins.

“That variety is called a Shropshire Beauty,” said a familiar male voice from across the room.

Her heartbeat quickening, Vanessa raised her head and saw a pair of lazy-lidded gray eyes calmly watching her in the moonlit darkness.

He was lounging in the same wing chair, dressed casually in shirtsleeves and breeches, like any squire or yeoman farmer might. Yet with his inherent aristocratic grace, no one would have mistaken Damien Sinclair for anything but a nobleman. With his shirt open at the throat, the white cambric presented a severe contrast to his dark good looks and sun-warmed skin.

Despite her vow to keep her feelings for him under control, Vanessa felt a surge of pleasure. He had as much as promised her he would return for future late-night’tete-a-tetes, and, mad as it might be, she was glad he had come.

It seemed almost natural to rise and put on a shawl and slippers and join him in front of the hearth, where a pleasant fire burned.

Then again, perhaps she had made a mistake. Damien gave her a soft smile, ripe with the seductive charm that made strong women weak. To hide her response to that devastatingly sensual smile, she bent her head to the rose, inhaling the fragrant scent.

How far and fast she had fallen-behaving like a wanton at the first opportunity. How dangerous he was. How captivating. All he did was beckon to her and she came running like a hound to heel. But she could no more resist him than she could have repressed the need to breathe.

She tried to compensate for her brazenness by avoiding his gaze. “I inspected the entry panel to the passage,” she murmured. “I could not manage to open it.”

“I will show you how if you like.”

“Where does it lead?”

He gave her a long look, until she finally raised her head. “To my bedchamber.”

Meeting his silvered eyes, Vanessa felt her heart accelerate into a rapid rhythm. “It doesn’t seem to have a lock.”

“True. It doesn’t. You may wedge an object in the junction to prevent it from sliding open. But you needn’t look so worried. I won’t press you to share my bed without your full cooperation.”

“You are likely to have a long wait.”

He smiled. “Anticipation merely makes the pleasure all the more sweet, angel.”

She drew an unsteady breath. “Does everyone know about the passageway?”

“It’s a secret, to my knowledge. I was a boy when I first discovered it. My illustrious father used to invite… certain female guests to stay here. The first time I found him, he was with a married lady.”

“His mistress was married?”

His lip curled. “I fear I was disillusioned quite young.”

“Did you aspire to be like your father?”

“God forbid.” He took a long swallow of brandy and stared pensively into the flames. “Now he was a reprobate of the first order. You would not have cared for him… Then again, you might. He had a way with women. He kept a string of mistresses-until he became so ensnared by one that he forswore all the rest, including my mother.”

The dark edge to his tone suggested pain as well as censure, and Vanessa studied him curiously. “I confess you are not what I expected.”

“How so?”

Vanessa pursed her lips thoughtfully. At his country home, Lord Sin seemed vastly different from his reputation. She’d seen little of his rakish ways here. On the contrary, she’d seen how he treated his sister, his protectiveness and gentleness toward her. He could not be all bad if he cared so deeply for someone. “You just seem different. Not as wild and wicked as I would have thought.”

“I rarely indulge in orgies and perversions at home,” he responded wryly. “And I draw the line at adultery.”

“I am comforted to know that.”

Her reply elicited a quick grin from him.

“Seriously,” Vanessa remarked, “you do surprise me. Your interest in roses, for example. Horticulture is an unlikely pastime for a man of your stamp. Mrs. Nesbit tells me you rescued the gardens from near ruin.”

“It was merely a diversion I dabbled with many years ago, in my youth. The roses rarely require my attention now. I have an excellent head nurseryman in charge, and the conservatories are practically self-sufficient.”

“Your library seems as well tended as your gardens. I spent a few moments examining your collection this afternoon. I never expected to find such a wide selection of volumes-everything from novels to political discourses to technical treatises.”

“My secretary deserves much of the credit. Last year he arranged and catalogued the lot. The library in my London house has space for only a modest collection, so I usually have the volumes shipped here. You met George Haskell in London, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“Poor George. He’s a clever young man but intensely studious.” Damien flashed a self-deprecating smile. “He would doubtless be happier in someone else’s employ. In his opinion, I’m an abject failure.”

“A failure?”

“Because I won’t take my seat in the House of Lords. George writes excellent speeches that I have no intention of delivering.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never taken much of an interest in politics. Yet he won’t give up hope that I will develop political aspirations someday.”

Vanessa eyed Damien curiously. “The books I saw in your library seemed to have been well perused. Did your secretary read them all?”

“No, I am the culprit, I’m afraid. I tend to read a great deal here. There is little else to do.”

“You actually read Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Women?”

“Yes. Have you?”

“Yes.” Her chin rose somewhat defiantly. Mary Wollstonecraft’s publication arguing against the subjection of women by men was considered seditious among the noble class. “And I found myself in accord with a number of her convictions regarding marriage. Especially those refuting the divine rights of husbands.”

“She made some interesting points about the social tyranny exercised by men,” Damien agreed, “but I thought some of her opinions stretched credibility.”

“Perhaps,” Vanessa acknowledged.

His glance seemed to measure her. “I confess, you are not precisely what I expected either. You are far more innocent. I never would have guessed you had been married before.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because you’re so skittish with men.”

“Not all men.”

“Just myself?”

She gave him an arch look. “I think you’ve given me good reason to be skittish, if that is what I am.”

“Perhaps so. We will have to remedy that.”

Vanessa shook her head mentally at the velvet promise in his tone. It was mystifying, how she could feel safe with him when he had as much as threatened her virtue.

An easy, contented silence settled between them. Some moments later Damien broke the quiet spell by asking, “Do you always plait your hair before sleeping?”

“Usually.” She looked wary. “Why?”

“You have lovely hair. I want to see it loose and fanning across my pillow.”

It was a deliberately provocative remark, which she determinedly ignored. Even in the moonlight, however, Damien could make out the flush on her cheeks, and he was enchanted.

Catching her off guard was not easy. Breaking through her prickly defenses required a deft and delicate touch.

He’d spoken truthfully. She was indeed unexpected. He’d been mistaken about her experience, obviously, prejudiced by the scandals involving her late husband and the rumors about her afterward. Vanessa was really nothing like her rakehell of a husband or her cur of a brother.

Damien was willing to admit he might deliberately have misjudged her. Many of the highborn ladies of the ton were thoroughly selfish and self-centered, only out for themselves. Yet Vanessa seemed quite different.

Her success with his sister had surprised and gratified him. It remained to be seen if her kindness and warmth was truly real, but if her concern for Olivia wasn’t genuine, she was giving an excellent performance.

Her intelligence was surprising as well. He had never expressly sought intellectual stimulation or clever conversation in his usual mistresses. One with a keen mind would be a novelty-a novelty he suspected he would enjoy. He found himself wanting to know Vanessa better, to explore her hidden depths.

Precisely because of his growing doubts about her, though, he’d found himself wrestling with an ironic dilemma: whether or not to hold her to their bargain and make her his mistress.

His seduction of her had begun as an irresistible challenge. Her mask of reserve and her cool disdain for men like him were as tempting as a thrown gauntlet. He’d been so positive he would easily conquer this beautiful, intriguing woman. Yet to his surprise, and perhaps perplexity, his goal had subtly changed as he’d come to know her over the past few days, while his own deepening interest had only burgeoned.

He was still set on winning their war of wills, of course, yet he wanted more than her grudging submission. He was determined to turn her cool contempt to burning hunger.

Perhaps it was best, Damien acknowledged, his eyes appraising her thoughtfully, to let events unfold in their natural course, to woo her until she lost her wariness of him.

It was tantalizing to contemplate her surrender. It would be a pleasure, showing her passion. Teaching her to desire and to express that desire… Yet a cardinal rule of seduction, Damien reminded himself, was not to overstay one’s welcome. As much as he regretted terminating this intimate interlude, he’d been here long enough for one evening.

With reluctance, he rose to his feet and moved to stand before her. “I shall go now, sweeting, and permit you to rest. I hope you will invite me to return.”

Her look of surprise was quickly masked as she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I imagine you are free to come and go as you please, my lord. This is your house, after all. But I shall not await your arrival with bated breath.”

He flashed a slow, wicked grin. “I look forward to the day when you give me an entirely different response.”

Deliberately then, he reached out and brushed a finger lingeringly across her cheek, as much to fulfill his need for physical expression as to accustom her to his touch.

The spark that flared between them at even that light contact shocked her more than it did him. Her midnight eyes held a startlement in their luminous depths that pleased him immensely.

And with that small victory, Damien knew he would have to be content.

At least for now.

His plan for her seduction proceeded apace, with ample opportunities for intimacy. He spent some part of each day in her company, dining with her each evening and occasionally joining her afternoon visits in the gardens with his sister.

The nurse-midwife with the healing hands arrived from Kent shortly and took over Olivia’s physical therapeutic activity, which left Vanessa with unexpected time to herself.

She began to ride almost daily, exploring the beautiful estate and the surrounding countryside, attended by a groom. Once or twice she made excursions into the village of Alcester to purchase some trifles and trinkets to entertain Olivia. The most enjoyable rides, however, were the rare occasions when Damien accompanied her.

She made free use of his library, which soon became her favorite refuge in the house. The room’s decor was sumptuous-Aubusson carpets, rich wood paneling, and gilded, frescoed ceilings-but it was the treasure of leather-bound volumes lining the walls that drew her. Vanessa spent hours curled up on the window seat overlooking the rose gardens, lost in pleasure.

When she wrote letters home to her mother and sisters, she took care to mention Lord Sinclair sparingly, so as to maintain the pretense that she’d been hired to provide company for his sister. Only Aubrey knew the truth about her role as Lord Sin’s mistress.

She had argued vehemently with her brother before she left, since Aubrey had balked upon realizing the lengths to which she would have to go in order to have his debts canceled. She hadn’t spared his sensibilities, for she wanted him to clearly understand the burden he’d placed on her with his reckless exploits. In the end she prevailed, simply because they had no other recourse.

The family, however, believed she had become companion to the incapacitated Miss Sinclair for the income-a genteel enough position for an impoverished noblewoman.

Vanessa disliked having to deceive them, and disliked even more having to deceive her charge by concealing her own connection to Aubrey. She dreaded to think of Olivia’s reaction should the truth ever come out. Yet despite the heavy press of guilt, she firmly believed she was doing far more good than harm. As wealthy as Olivia was, the lonely girl was starved for friendship, and she was touchingly grateful not to have to bear her trauma alone.

Attending her had proved a delight rather than the burden Vanessa had feared. And with the hope of possible recovery, even Olivia’s chill relationship with Damien had begun a slight thawing.

Initially there was some discussion about escorting the invalid to Bath to take advantage of the hot mineral waters there, but aside from the journey by coach being too arduous to attempt in her fragile condition, Olivia didn’t want her infirmity widely known. So instead, Damien proposed to build a special bath at Rosewood for his sister, and his mornings were occupied with the design and construction in the conservatory where his rare strains of roses were cultivated.

Much to her dismay, Vanessa discovered his absence almost as compelling as his presence, for she couldn’t banish him from her thoughts, or from her dreams. His sensual magnetism haunted her waking or sleeping.

He was a far more complex man than she had first imagined. It was only gradually, however, that she learned more about what had driven him to become the legendary Lord Sin.

One morning during her second week at Rosewood, Vanessa encountered him at the stables and with great pleasure accepted his invitation to ride. They enjoyed a brisk gallop but slowed to a more sedate pace as they returned through the park. When they came to a rise overlooking the lake, Vanessa drew a breath at the shimmering splendor.

“How beautiful,” she murmured.

“Yes, I had forgotten.” Damien sounded almost wistful as he halted his horse beside her.

“You don’t spend much time here at Rosewood, I understand.”

His mouth twisted in a grimace. “I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

“Why?” she asked curiously. “If I had a home this beautiful, I doubt I would ever wish to leave.”

“My childhood gave me an aversion to the place, I’m afraid. It holds too many unpleasant memories.”

“What sort of memories?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, he slowly dismounted and stood staring off into the distance.

“My parents’ marriage was a battleground,” he said finally in a low voice. “My father became so obsessed with his mistress that he sought to divorce my mother, and she hated him for it.”

“Divorce? Isn’t securing a decree difficult?”

“He had ample grounds under English law, since she was as faithless to him as he was to her. But her family was powerful and wealthy enough to prevent him dragging her through the courts.” Damien shook his head, as if remembering. “She took a procession of lovers-primarily out of revenge, I suspect. But one day she found herself spurned by her beau in favor of a younger beauty, and their marriage turned even uglier… more bitter.”

“Fortunately for me, I went away to university and was required to return here infrequently. By the time I graduated, I’d come into a substantial inheritance and was able to make my home in London, independent of my father. He lived in the London town house, while my mother retired here to the country. They refused even to share the same house.”

Damien gave a humorless laugh. “It was something of an irony that they perished together in a carriage accident after a ball Prinny gave. It was the first time in years they had even attended the same function. I can’t say I greatly mourned their passing, to be brutally honest.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Vanessa. Sunbeams heightened the sharp clarity of his gray eyes, and she could see the pain the dark memories dredged up for him.

As if recalling himself, he shrugged and came around to help her dismount. When he set her down, she moved a few steps away, unnerved by even so casual a touch.

“That was when you assumed your sister’s guardianship?” Vanessa asked, not wishing his revelations to end.

“Yes.” Damien bent to pluck a blade of grass to chew. “I discharged my legal obligations adequately enough, but I never realized until these past few months how greatly I neglected Olivia. She had all the advantages a girl could ask for-wealth, rank, education. But she had to grow up alone. She resents me for that, I know. And I can’t really blame her. I have no excuse for my neglect, other than my complete unsuitability for raising a young lady.”

“Perhaps you should try to talk to her.”

“And what would you have me say?”

“I don’t believe she knows how much you care. You might tell her of your regrets, how unqualified you felt to be her guardian. She probably never considered you might actually be inept at something.”

Damien smiled faintly. “And you expect her to forgive me?”

“I think she will, yes. My guess is that she wants you to be a real brother to her. You’re her only family, but she’s never really known you. She’s felt intensely lonely… ignored by you, isolated from society by her straitlaced governess. Her loneliness is doubtless what allowed Olivia to be led astray-” Vanessa bit off the words “by my brother,” and instead added, “And now she feels trapped by her chair. She needs you now more than ever, Damien, even if she doesn’t see it at the moment.”

He grimaced wryly. “She most certainly doesn’t see it.”

“Have you ever simply asked her what she wants?”

“What do you mean?”

“The other day she remarked about the unfairness of being female. Men can ride out into the world in search of adventure, but girls must remain at home, waiting to be courted. And you said yourself that her home was often like a battleground. You were able to escape, but Olivia wasn’t.”

His brow furrowed with skepticism, but Vanessa suspected he took her advice quite seriously.

He was still deep in thought a short while later when he helped her remount her horse, and he seemed not to notice that Vanessa flinched at his touch. She could only chastise herself for her lack of control.

Yet it was startling how effortlessly he affected her senses and was not in the least sensible that she’d begun to crave his company.

She found herself eagerly anticipating his nightly visits and the roses he brought her, each a different hue and size, from tiny, delicate buds of yellow, to lush, ripe blooms of palest pink, to elegant blossoms of wine red.

Those midnight’tete-a-tetes were ripe with sensual intimacy, even though he rarely physically touched her.

A few nights later they sat as usual before the fireplace, although Damien had lit a candle to augment the waning moonlight. He sipped brandy while Vanessa buried her nose in this evening’s rose, which was pure ivory.

“At this rate,” she murmured, “you won’t have a single bloom left in your gardens.”

“I doubt there is any danger of depleting my gardens just yet,” Damien responded wryly, his half-smile lavish with the devastating charm she had come to expect from him.

No doubt that sinful smile had served only to heighten his reputation for wickedness, Vanessa surmised.

“How did you come to be known as Lord Sin?” she asked curiously.

His answer surprised her by being unexpectedly thought-fill. “I suppose I was following in my father’s footsteps. I was a wild young blood, with no one to curb my excesses or set limits. And London held a treasure trove of forbidden delights for a green youth.”

“And later, when you grew older? You were no longer a youth when you established the Hellfire League.”

Damien shrugged. “A gentleman must have some diversions. When it was new, the League provided an excellent remedy for ennui.”

“And now?”

“The novelty has long since worn off, I’m afraid.”

Silence fell between them while they both became lost in thought. Vanessa suspected Damien suffered from much the same complaint as her brother-too much license and too little serious occupation. Her late husband, too, had turned to gaming and wenching to fill his time, especially in London, where the opportunities for vice and iniquity were so much greater.

“I don’t much care for London,” she remarked, changing the subject a little.

“No?”

“It holds… unpleasant memories for me. Most of my marriage was spent there. And I became a widow there.” She shuddered, recalling that terrible time. “I remember that day so vividly. A friend of my husband’s came to tell me Roger had been killed, and then his body was brought home… The time afterward is a blur, though. Thankfully my brother was there to support me. He took care of the details of my husband’s estate, dealt with the tradesmen and moneylenders-” With a start, Vanessa recollected what she was saying. “I’m sorry, I agreed not to talk about Aubrey.”

“Surely your memories of London aren’t all bad,” Damien said, ignoring her slip.

“Not all. I might have enjoyed it under different circumstances.”

“I wager I could have shown you a more pleasurable side of the city.”

She smiled. “I doubt I’m licentious enough to qualify for entry into your realm.”

He cocked his head, surveying her skeptically. “Have you never wanted to do anything wicked?”

“Perhaps, although my definition of wicked and yours are entirely different matters. There were any number of times when I was sorely tempted to flout society’s conventions. I remember a certain ball when the Duchess of Salford made a particularly vindictive remark… I nearly threw my cup of rack punch in her face.”

“That is wicked indeed.” He gave her that soft fallen-angel smile that could ensnare a woman’s heart.

She flushed and averted her gaze, staring into the fire. “Why do I always tell you such personal things?”

“Because I tend not to be judgmental, perhaps?”

It was true, Vanessa realized. She never felt as if he was sitting in judgment of her.

“In any case,” Damien added lightly, “turnabout is fair play. You’ve made me bare my soul often enough.”

Yet it wasn’t simply that the intimate atmosphere of their midnight exchanges lent itself to confession, Vanessa suspected. Lord Sinclair was deliberately trying to draw her out, to learn her secrets so that he might better lure her to his bed.

His strategy was succeeding, at least in part. She had lost her intense wariness of him. And yet she found it harder to maintain an air of composure when he was near. He could make her quiver with a glance, render her breathless with a simple touch.

Perhaps it was her dread of what was to come that so unnerved her. Damien had been exceedingly patient with her reticence, not demanding so much as a kiss from her. Vanessa felt certain, however, that the situation couldn’t remain that way. Before long he would require her to become his mistress in truth.

One night during the beginning of her third week at Rosewood, the conversation turned even more personal- deeply, disquietingly so. Again they were sitting before the fire in the warm glow of candlelight. At first Vanessa remained undisturbed when she felt his heavy-lidded gaze lingering upon her. She’d grown accustomed to his lazy, searching perusals.

Yet she was not prepared for the question that broke the pleasurable silence between them.

“How long has it been for you?” he asked softly.

She could have pretended to misunderstand. Could have refused to answer such an intimate, intrusive query. But candidness had been a hallmark of their relationship from the first, and she had come to value it, despite how unsettling such honesty often could prove.

“Two years.”

“So long?”

She had to look away from the intensity in his observant eyes. “You have misjudged me,” she replied, a tremor in her voice. “I told you the truth. I am not experienced in carnal matters. I haven’t had countless lovers. Only my husband.”

“And you didn’t enjoy that,” he said, low and hushed.

“It… was not pleasant.” She flushed, ashamed that Damien had managed to draw such an admission from her.

“Let me guess,” he continued, keeping his voice quietly modulated. “He never took the time to arouse you. Instead he sought his own pleasure without considering yours. You lay beneath him, tense and unresponsive, expecting pain and dutifully receiving it.”

The stark picture he painted struck too close to the truth. Vanessa bowed her head, reliving the dark memories. “It was my duty, but he… hurt me.”

“You may trust me never to hurt you, Vanessa.”

Slowly she raised her gaze to his, searching his face. Trust was not a word she would use with Damien Sinclair. But, startlingly, she did trust him. Why else would she have so readily revealed her secrets to him? She should have deplored his insistent probing and her own intimate confessions; but, in a bewildering way, she was almost relieved to have her private shame exposed.

His eyes captured hers and held them. “Carnal relations needn’t be unpleasant for a woman. Indeed, they should not be.”

“He thought me cold… unfeeling. Because I couldn’t bear his touch.”

A swift spark of anger flickered in the storm-silver eyes. “He was a damned fool.”

She stared at Damien, wanting to believe the firm conviction in his pronouncement.

He kept his voice soft and even when he continued. “Vanessa, your dislike of physical intimacy stems from a cruel experience. While you might be lacking in education and experience, I doubt you are cold or unfeeling. I would wager my entire fortune that inside you is a warm, passionate woman yearning to break free.”

Against her volition, her throat constricted with emotion. For so long she had lived with the shame and guilt of her inadequacies. If she had been a better wife to Roger, perhaps he would not have sought other women’s beds. He might even have moderated his wild and reckless lifestyle and never met an ignominious end with a bullet through his heart on the dueling field.

The possibility was like balm to a raw wound, and Vanessa was absurdly grateful to Damien for suggesting a reason that she had never responded physically to her husband.

“You… think me passionate?”

He was watching her, his eyes half-closed yet so sensual, so compelling, he made her heart ache. “I’m sure of it. I could show you, if you would put your pleasure in my hands.”

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.

With unhurried deliberation then, he set down his glass and rose from his chair. “Shall I show you what it is like to feel wanted, desired?”

Moving slowly, Damien reached down and drew her to her feet. Immobile, she stared up at him, seeing the flames warming the depths of his eyes. His closeness stirred a pleasurable spark that flickered along the ends of her nerves.

“I do desire you, angel. More than you could possibly imagine.”

“Damien…”

“Hush. Don’t fear me. I will allow you to take the lead.” He took her hand and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Just touch me.”

He guided her hand, letting her fingers trace slowly over his features. With a breath of a sigh, Vanessa closed her eyes, exploring the planes and angles of his beautiful face, learning the masculine shape, the unique contours, the subtle flex of flesh and bone.

The sensation was new to her, and yet somehow heart familiar. In her dreams she had touched him like this, savoring the warmth of his skin, the faint rasp of stubble that shadowed his jaw, the flow of his breath when her fingers sketched the pliant curve of his mouth.

“What do you feel?”

What she felt was a stirring of heat deep within her, a softening, a melting. What she felt was wonder at the breathless enchantment he wrapped around her so effortlessly. What she felt was longing.

Her eyes opened slowly, and she stared up at him, dazed.

The silver eyes were tender and knowing. But he made no further move.

He knew his power over her, knew how dangerously sensual he was. And yet he was not prepared to take advantage of her, it seemed.

“No,” he murmured, his voice dropping to the husk of a whisper. “You are not yet ready.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he brought her fingers to his lips to kiss their pale tips slowly, lingeringly.

Then just as gently, he released her.

“I won’t press you further tonight, sweeting. When you finally share my bed, it will seem as right to you as it does to me.”

The velvet promise in his voice echoed in her mind long after he was gone. Remembering, Vanessa shuddered. She was still quivering from the enchanting fire he had aroused deep within her. Still trembling with the sweet, intimate feelings his tenderness had stirred.

She looked down, staring at her fingers. Impossibly, she could still feel the imprint of his burning kiss and the brand of his soft lips. But it was the inexplicable yearnings in her heart that frightened her more.