Closer To Sin (26 page)

Sinclair held still as he felt Liliane contract around him. He watched her face contort and then relax into a vision of bliss as she found her climax.

It was too much for him. ‘Ah, my love,’ he groaned against her breast. His orgasm cannoned through him, blinding him to everything but the woman in his arms. Light exploded behind his eyes as spasms, more intense than any he’d ever experienced, marauded his body and plundered his soul. Above him, Liliane’s head was thrown back, her face masked with content.

As the tremors passed, awareness slowly returned. Sinclair lay back on the rock and closed his eyes. He felt intensely raw, exposed, complete. Sweet Lucifer, what had just happened? How did the desire to appease Liliane’s heartache turn into this? And what
this
was he had no name for. At least, none that he chose to own.

***

The clock chimed midnight and Liliane lay with her head nested in the hollow of Sin’s shoulder, locked to his side while her legs were entangled between his. He was asleep with one arm thrown behind his head and blissfully ignorant of her restlessness. He looked younger, less troubled as he slept. His brow wasn’t furrowed with worry and the creases about his eyes had relaxed. His mouth, though, was still a temptation she had to fight not to kiss.

With him at her side she had spent the past two days talking with Gaston and Anais, discussing all the possible culprits for Gareth’s murder and examining what they knew of the Cousins’ Legacy, although in the end it amounted to very little. The entire time spent in their company allowed her to get to know them better.

They were kind and generous, and despite Anais’s initial outburst at Sin’s actions, they didn’t pass judgement on the
non-marriage
, as Gaston had come to refer to it. Even though she had shared a bed with Sin these past two nights. Even though, tomorrow, Gaston would escort her back to Solange’s cottage.

But more than anything else, she had got to know Sin better. She thought back to the man she’d met at the inn nigh on ten days ago. He’d been sullen and morose, and most certainly lacking in any sense of humour. She had felt small and inconsequential seated next to him as he’d radiated anger and discussed her with Solange as if she hadn’t been there.

In truth, she had been more than a little bit intimidated by him, and a whole lot attracted to him. He had emanated a self-assurance that was innate to everything he did—from the way he’d spoken to her to the flirtatious way that he had engaged with the barmaid.

She was still surprised he had capitulated and agreed for her to accompany him. What had tipped the scales in her favour? From the moment he’d squeezed into the booth beside her she had been conscious of his every little movement. She bit down on her lip, trying to ignore the now familiar hum that simmered beneath her skin whenever he was near. He had awakened an awareness in her that was primal. Perhaps, just maybe, she had that same effect on him.

Those traits she’d initially associated with him were certainly undeniable elements of his personality. But oh, he was so much more than that. Liliane sighed. She had discovered in him a man who was loyal to his friends, and fiercely protective of her. He was a generous lover and had a tenderness that would bring tears to the eyes of any woman so lucky to be the recipient of his affections.

She picked up Grandpère’s watch and cupped her hand around the now familiar shape. She was deeply touched that when all hell had been unleashed, Sin had remembered to give the watch to Lyon, and then had cared for it until she was well enough to do so herself. She would treasure the memories of these past days and hold them close to her forever. She would warm herself with them as she submitted to a loveless marriage and she would take them out and look at them in the years ahead when her heart was at its coldest and most lonely.

For as much as her heart yearned otherwise, there was no possibility of any future. Her secret, the one that she would not reveal to him, ensured that she could never be a part of his world. She had done nothing but mull her options over and over. It was fanciful to think that it would only take courage to have the life she craved. In the still of night, with a family already devastated by loss and heartache, she knew she could not bring more sorrow down upon their heads.

God knew, if Uncle Nate ever discovered what she’d done, what they had done, Sin would most certainly find himself on the receiving end of a duelling pistol. No, the only solution was to ensure this marriage was dissolved as quickly and quietly as possible. Not that Sin had indicated he wanted it any other way. Despite his kindness, and their mutual attraction, she was still just an encumbrance.

‘Are you going to go to sleep, or are you going to lay there and fidget all night?’

Liliane jumped, startled by the deep rumble of Sin’s voice. ‘Pardon?’

Sin sighed deeply. ‘You’ve been lying at my side twitching and fidgeting for the past hour. Is there something you would like to share with me?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m just thinking about tomorrow. It was kind of Gaston to offer to escort me back to Solange’s house. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.’

‘Liar,’ he grinned.

‘What?’

Sin rolled over and pinned her to the bed. ‘I called you a liar, sweet wife. You are laying here mulling over the past few days, regretting your impetuousness and wondering how you were going to get out of this marriage.’

Liliane looked at him incredulously. ‘How in the world did you know that?’

He leant in and kissed her. ‘I can read you like a book.’ Sin’s laughter washed over her as he grabbed her arms and hoisted her hands above his head to prevent her from striking out at him. ‘And now you’re feigning anger, but wondering whether you’re really that easy to read.’ Another kiss. ‘You are akin to a classic piece of literature, one I have read before but can’t put down.’

Liliane looped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening herself to his kiss. She arched into him. The energy that flowed between them was palpable, a living entity with its own light source. Tonight was their last night together and she did not want to deny herself this one last intimacy. She sighed deeply as he traced a hand down her side, sliding around to cup her bottom before he nudged a knee between her legs and gently urged her to open to him. Her body ignited in response to his demands. They had already made love twice today, but she had an insatiable need to get closer, to experience once more the exquisite bliss he brought to her.

She let out a delicate moan as she felt him slide into her, stretching and filling her. She matched her body to his movements, rising to meet every thrust, accommodating his every request. The tension built, binding her to him until her whole being capitulated and submitted to the effervescent current that washed through her. She felt him still before groaning deeply and burying his head at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She revelled in the feel of his seed spilling deep within her.

As the moment quietened, awareness returned. The heat of his embrace threatened to overwhelm her. She pulled back, giving herself space to breath, space to think. Pushing his hair back from his eyes she uttered the words that would bring everything to an end. ‘Even the most well-worn book needs to be returned to the library eventually. It’s not yours to keep indefinitely.’

She felt cold and bereft as he lifted himself from her and rolled onto his back. He didn’t reach for her as he usually did, but lay with his hands locked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. ‘Trust me, Liliane, I will set everything right in September.’

Liliane swallowed down the lump in her throat. September, after the closure of the Season. She would probably be betrothed by then. She was going to have to work hard to convince everyone that a long betrothal was to be favoured by all. Perhaps Freddy would settle for a Christmas wedding. Her throat closed over unexpectedly and tears burnt at the back of her eyes. All she had ever asked was for just a little time for herself. Well, she’d had that, and what a mess she’d made of things.

She felt Sin smudge a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘Are you okay?’ he gently queried.

‘Yes, I’m okay. I’ll be here in September.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Anais’s baby.’

London, April 1805

Sinclair lounged against the potted palm and watched Nathaniel Manning, the Duke of Martinbury, attempt to negotiate the latest crop of hopefuls and grimaced as Lady Bloomfield thrust her daughter forward. He started as Nate signed the girl’s dance card. Well, that’s new.

He motioned to a passing waiter and nabbed two glasses of champagne, intending to give the second to Nate once he’d passed through the flock. He stood up straighter. Martinbury had stopped to greet Lady Pope and allowed her to present her daughter. What, Nate had signed that chit’s dance card also?

He placed his empty glass on a passing footman’s tray and took a sip from the glass he’d reserved for Nate. Bloody hell, what had happened in the time he’d been away? Lady Ross ushered her daughters forward, twins, covered from head to foot in elaborate frills. Oh for goodness sake, send the infants back to the school room for a couple more years. He’d heard Ross was in dun territory, but to auction off mere babes was inexcusable. He took a swallow of the champagne and choked. What in the name of sweet Lucifer did Martinbury think he was doing?

Sinclair shook his head in wonderment. He’d never know Martinbury to be a risk taker before, but he was about to start a stampede any minute now. Nate never danced with the debutantes. Wallflowers, yes, but never the fledglings. Four in one night? He may as well wear a placard that screamed
Marry Me
.

Sinclair stiffened. Was that what this was about, had Nate decided it was time to marry? He hadn’t said a word. But then, he himself had been too busy traipsing all over France these past months to give much heed to his best friend.

France where Liliane was awaiting his return to make things right. What she hadn’t understood, what he hadn’t elaborated upon, was that he had no intention of seeking an annulment. He had sworn never to remarry, but he had never envisaged a sapphire-eyed virago full of more spunk and sass than any woman he had ever encountered. He cast a derisive eye around the ballroom and cynically accepted that mayhap there were a few widows present who possessed no shortage of sass, but their efforts were born purely of avarice.

Speaking of which, Francesca Dennison was plastered on Lord Stokey’s arm tonight. Sinclair raked a hand through his hair. It wasn’t as if he’d had an exclusive arrangement with her, and he’d certainly made no attempt to get in touch with her since he’d returned home, but
Stokey
? Bloody hell, the guy was affable enough, but he didn’t have to two brain cells with which to spark an intelligent conversation. Sinclair watched her stumble as she noticed him lounging behind the palm. He raised a glass in salute to her. ‘Lady Dennison, Stokey.’

‘Lord Esselton.’ She dragged her eyes assessingly from his head to toe, stopping midway to measure his interest in her. ‘What pray-tell has dragged you out of hiding?’

Ah, so apparently he no longer measured up. Presumably she’d yet to forgive him for his sudden and unexplained departure late last year. ‘Sheath your claws, Francesca, you’ll frighten off old Stokey here. You wouldn’t want him to get the impression that you’ve morphed into a grasping harpy, would you?’

‘At least he has something to grasp.’ Behind her, Stokey coughed in embarrassment.

Sinclair snickered. ‘Well then, make sure you handle it carefully, and take care not to break it. Have a nice evening Lady Dennison, Stokey.’ The woman had no shame. He’d give it a week before she was back begging for his attention. The thought disgusted him. And yet twelve months ago he’d been more than happy with her hedonistic appetites. With a swift movement, he threw back the champagne he’d been keeping for Nate and gestured to the footman to bring two more glasses.

‘What was that all about?’ Nate queried.

Sinclair accepted the glasses and handed one to Nate, choosing to ignore the question. ‘So what’s with the fledglings?’

Nate put a hand on his shoulder and studied him intently for several long moments. ‘What’s with the foul mood? You’ve been short tempered and snippy ever since your return from the Continent. That’s not like you Sin—and while Francesca may not be a paragon of virtue, she didn’t deserve the sharp side of your tongue just then.’

‘I don’t need a conscience, Martinbury.’ Sinclair shook Nate’s hand from his shoulder. ‘So, are you going to dance with every debutante that gets thrown your way tonight?’

Nate scowled at him. ‘Not that it concerns you, but my niece suggested I should be more considerate of the younger girls. Apparently, any interest from me will make them more attractive to others.’ Nate shuddered. ‘I just hope to hell she doesn’t think this is her path to playing matchmaker for me.’

Sinclair grimaced. ‘Good luck with that.’ Nabbing another glass from a passing waiter, he took a sip of the tepid champagne. Bloody hell, he’d have to go looking for something stronger soon; the covetous eyes flicking his way were starting to feel like ants crawling across his skin. ‘I don’t think I’ve met your niece, is she here?’

Nate looked at him sceptically. ‘As if the esteemed Dowager Countess of Carrick is going to ever let you within one hundred paces of her female relatives.’

‘Damn it, Nate, don’t tell me she’s still holding a few youthful hijinks over my head.’ Bloody hell, the old harridan could hold a grudge.

Nate nodded. ‘Apparently so. Meanwhile, the niece is being kept under wraps for a few more days. Aunt Woolner’s hosting a birthday ball for her on Thursday night, hope’s she’ll accept a betrothal to Freddy Parkes.’

Sinclair coughed on his wine. ‘That numb-skull? Your niece must be something of an antidote if that’s the best you can hope to do for her.’

Nate looked down at his timepiece. ‘Far from being an antidote, she’s exceedingly lovely.’ He looked back up at Sinclair. ‘Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a country dance I must attend to. And you have a meeting with Sir Avery. Drop into Whites tomorrow tonight and let me know how it went.’ Nate slapped him on the shoulder started to move away. ‘Oh, and I expect you to attend the ball on Thursday night. It’s about time you and my Aunt made peace—and you can meet my niece.’ With that he slipped into the crowd.