Closer To Sin (28 page)

She turned and moved towards Nate. Reaching up she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you, Uncle Nate.’

Nate returned the hug. ‘You have a golden opportunity, don’t waste it. For now, though, I’m going to change and then I’m off to my club.’ Crossing to his Aunt, he bent and dropped a peck on her cheek. ‘I shall see you tomorrow, Aunt. I have every faith your ball shall be the event of the Season—particularly if the bills I have been receiving are any indication.’

The Dowager Countess returned her nephew’s kiss. ‘I shan’t hold a grudge, Martinbury, but I sincerely hope you don’t live to regret your impetuous indulgence.’

Nate shot her a wink as he paused at the door. ‘Then you may say you told me so.’

***

Sinclair held up his glass for Nate to top it up with port. He cast an eye about to ensure they were not going to be overheard, although it was usually quiet in the club at this time of the afternoon. Most patrons had already headed home to prepare for the evening’s round of dinner parties and entertainments.

‘So how did your meeting with Sir Avery go last night?’ Nate queried.

Sinclair shook his head in contemplation. ‘Truth be told, I’m not so sure. All of the leads in our search for Gareth are proving to be dead ends. I exhausted every possible path of investigation in France, and nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the Earth.’ He took a long swallow of his port. ‘Meanwhile, this whole Cousins’ Legacy has got everyone baffled. Since my return Sir Avery has made a number of discreet enquiries with several of the French émigré families but even they have little to contribute.’

Nate looked sceptical. ‘It seems highly implausible there’s not at least one among them that knows something. Who did he talk to?’

Sinclair named a number of the more well-known émigré families who had taken up residence in England over the course of the past twenty years. ‘Although,’ he clarified, ‘it’s not that they know nothing, but the facts are obscured by rumour and myth.’

‘As we’ve learnt countless times over the years, there is quite often a basis of truth in most rumours. Some of our best intelligence has come to us by way of rumour.’

Sinclair inclined his head. ‘Interestingly, one source suggested the trustee of this Legacy was of noble French birth and had fled to England before the Terror, but died a number of years ago. Another source collaborated that rumour and went on to say the Legacy had been passed to a new generation and that they either had, or soon would be, entrusted with the task of igniting a new rebellion.’

Nate grimaced. ‘If that is the case, they won’t be able to remain hidden for much longer. Sooner or later they are going to have to come out of the woodwork in order to gather supporters.’

Sinclair made to respond, but cast a pointed look over Nate’s shoulder. ‘We’re about to have company.’

Turning in his chair slightly, Nate cursed under his breath. ‘The local intelligentsia has arrived.’

The gentleman in question made a bee-line towards Sinclair and Nate and greeted them effusively. ‘Ho there, Esselton, Martinbury. Hiding out, too, I see.’ Parkes chuckled at his own wit. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat himself down and signalled for the waiter to bring another bottle of port and another glass. ‘Now, who’s up for a game of hazard, I’m feeling particularly lucky myself tonight.’

Sinclair silently groaned. There were some sacrifices he just couldn’t make. He rose from his chair and slapped Nate on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, chaps, I’m escorting Mother to the theatre tonight. Martinbury, I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

Liliane reached up and adjusted a curl that threatened to spill into Yvette’s eyes. ‘You look beautiful.’ She kissed her cousin on the cheek. ‘The gentlemen will be tripping over themselves to get to you tonight.’

Yvette laughed. ‘Don’t be silly. This night is all about you, no one will notice me hiding out in the corner.’

‘Who’s being foolish now? Everyone notices you. And tonight your hair will glisten the colour of burnished gold, and no gentleman would be able to resist those gentle grey eyes of yours.’

‘Burnished gold? Lady Carrick chooses to refer to it as rodent brown.’

‘
She does not—
’ Liliane choked.

Yvette giggled. ‘No, I think the animal she referred to was a mouse, but a rodent none the less.’

Liliane hugged her cousin tightly. ‘You’re wicked. Now, turn around and let me have a look at you.’ Yvette straightened her elbow length gloves and slowly spun around for Liliane’s inspection. The pale blue gown was elegantly styled to suit Yvette’s diminutive stature. Yvette had opted for a simple style, delicately embroidered with silver roses that trailed from the high waistline to eventually encircle the hemline. Her shoulders were capped with small puffed sleeves and the broad satin ribbon at her bust completed the look. Liliane gasped, ‘You look positively ethereal. All you need do is carry a wand and our guests will think they have been visited upon by a faerie.’

Yvette laughed. ‘Now, your turn to turn around.’

Liliane sunk into a deep curtsy before rising and promenading about her room. Her own gown of silver satin was subtly cut to hint at her generous bosom. A fine silk overlay, shot with silver thread and trimmed with pearl beading, flowed from the delicate lace ribbon below her bust. Small puffed sleeves were inserted with the same fabric as her overskirt to form shimmery long sleeves that buttoned at her wrists. Lace gloves adorned her hands while silver dancing slippers peeked from below her skirts.

‘Liliane, you are truly beautiful. Just one more thing: happy birthday.’ Yvette produced a small box from her reticule and presented it to Liliane. ‘Open it.’

A brilliant pearl upon a fine silver chain sat nestled in the box. Liliane gasped; it was the perfect adornment to go with her dress. ‘Oh,
sweetie
. Thank you so much—that’s the exact one we were admiring in jeweller’s window last week.’ She hugged Yvette tightly. ‘Here, help me put it on.’

Yvette reached around Liliane and fastened the clasp. Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she nodded. ‘Perfect. This is going to be such a magical night.’

Liliane laughed some more. ‘Let’s hope everyone else is as impressed with us as we are with ourselves. And you’re right, it is going to be magical—I plan to dance every dance.’ And do all in her power to push away the memories of the dark-haired enigma whose devilish grin haunted her dreams every night.

‘Wait here, I shall have Everett inform Lady Carrick that we are ready.’ Yvette stopped at the door and spun back into the room, her eyes sparkling with nervous excitement. ‘Happy birthday, Liliane.’

Liliane shooed Yvette from the room and raced back over to the mirror to have one last check of her toilette. The girl before her didn’t sparkle with the same joy that possessed Yvette. Her heart gave a dull thud as she fought to suppress the overwhelming sense of longing that threatened to spill from her. Many of the guests were in expectation of a betrothal being announced tonight. And although she was probably only delaying the inevitable, she couldn’t make such a commitment when her heart was elsewhere.

She wondered where Sin was. What was he doing? Did he think of her, or had he been happy to be rid of the encumbrance? Somehow, though, she didn’t believe that to be true. Sin had an innate honesty about him, and he would not waste time pretending an affection that did not exist. He may not have been in love with her, but his attentiveness and the intensity of his lovemaking suggested that, at the very least, he cared. She, on the other hand, could no longer deny her true feelings. Their ten days together had been short in the scheme of a lifetime, but she would carry the love she felt for him into eternity.

***

Sinclair made his way through the glittering crowd to where Nate stood near the foot of the staircase. He motioned to a nearby waiter and relieved him of two glasses of champagne. He handed one over to Nate as he reached him. ‘I seem to have acquired a position as your manservant.’

Nate accepted the drink and grinned. ‘I’ll remember that next time I’m looking to hire on new staff.’

Sinclair looked around, scanning the faces of the guests gathered in noisy throngs throughout the room. Bloody hell, he must be getting old. Amassed about the refreshments table, a herd of young bucks tussled for access to the punch bowl as several giggly young ladies watched on. Did they realise how ridiculous they were behaving?

On the far side of the room, tucked away from the orchestra and the dance floor, the chaperones and wallflowers sat huddled trading pleasantries. In another corner, debutantes bedecked in white were nervously clustered at their mothers’ sides and a large number of the gentlemen had adjourned to the card room or stood on the terrace smoking and trading anecdotes as they awaited the commencement of the dancing. The centre of the room, though, was dominated by the matrons and widows, gossiping and laughing loudly. They were resplendent in their vibrantly coloured gowns and dazzling jewellery, their heads adorned with plumes of feathers or ornately bejewelled turbans.

He perused the group with a lazy eye. In the past, he would have joined their ranks to exchange pleasantries and offer to partner a widow or two. And if that liaison went beyond the dance floor, then they both knew the rules. But damned if any had sable hair and sapphire eyes. He threw back his champagne and signalled for another. Martinbury was right, he’d been behaving like a morose bastard these past few weeks.

He turned his attention back to Nate. ‘It’s a sad crush, and there are still a couple more in the receiving line. I snuck in a side door, I wasn’t brave enough to cross the threshold with the dragon guarding it.’

‘You’re pathetic, Esselton.’

Sinclair shrugged. ‘Your aunt terrifies me, makes me feel like a school boy all over again. So, where’s the antidote, I notice she’s not lined up to greet the guests.’

Nate gave him a resigned look. ‘No, my Aunt has insisted upon a grand entrance. All very melodramatic.’ Behind them the muted screech of violins could be heard as the orchestra readied their instruments. ‘And unless I’ve missed my cue, I think the drama is about to begin.’

As Nate spoke, two trumpeters stationed themselves before each of the newel posts at the foot of the staircase. Everett stepped forward and nodded towards Nate before taking his place in the centre. Almost as one, the assemblage of guests turned to face the stairs as Lady Carrick moved to stand beside Nate, darting a venomous look at Sinclair as she did so.

The trumpeters sounded a fanfare that proclaimed the commencement of the official proceedings and Everett stepped forward. ‘My lords and ladies, assembled guests, on the occasion of her twenty-fifth birthday, I present to you the Honourable Miss Liliane Celeste Desailly of Manning Grange.’

Sinclair felt an explosion of ice race through his veins. What had Everett said?

The hush that had descended upon the invited guests was broken by gasps of awe as a vision in silver stepped forward. The smile that graced her cherry red lips was reflected in the sapphire depths of her eyes. She shimmered and glittered from the sparkling diamantes that adorned her sable tresses to the tips of her silver slippers. Sinclair felt the atmosphere in the room intensify and start to crackle, as every buck fixed their attention to the woman on the stairs and shifted restlessly, ready to assert a claim.

The ice pulsating through his veins pooled in a glacial mass deep in his gut, rooting him to the spot, robbing him of voice or rational thought. He stood there, insensible, as Liliane slowly descended the stairway. Around him people jostled for a better view of her and a buzz of speculation broke out. What the hell was going on? How did Liliane—his Liliane—come to be standing on Martinbury’s staircase?

Martinbury shifted at his side. ‘Esselton, what in God’s name is the matter with you, man? Let go of me.’ Sinclair looked down to see he held Nate’s upper arm in a pincer like grip. Nate was looking at him questioningly, demanding an answer.

‘Explain to me, Martinbury, what my wife is doing on your staircase?’

***

The sound of Everett’s voice faded away and Liliane stepped forward, careful not to trip on the hem of her dress. Lord, Great-Aunt Woolner would never forgive her if she messed up her so carefully choreographed entrance. She pushed down the jumbled mass of nerves that bubbled from low in her belly and carefully commenced her descent of the stairs. The ballroom sparkled in its finery. Great-Aunt Woolner had gone all out to see it decorated with hundreds of shimmering candles and white roses—she must have emptied out every florist in London. It looked like a faerie land. All Liliane had to do was hold her head high and smile brightly; everything else would take care of itself.

As each downward step brought her closer to the awaiting guests she scanned the crowd searching for familiar faces. At the back of the room the servants stood in the doorway, sharing this proud moment with her. Among the guests, standing with their chaperones, she found the faces of several of her friends, including Sara Dudley who smiled encouragingly at her. She was standing beside her mother, looking beautiful in a pale lemon gown embellished with tiny pearls.

At the foot of the stairs, she found Yvette standing between Lady Carrick and Nate. And to the left of the Dowager stood Freddy Parkes. It appeared Lady Carrick was still going to encourage that match despite all that was discussed yesterday. Liliane held her smile; she would worry about that another time. Tonight she was going to enjoy her birthday celebration.

Liliane descended another step and froze. The room before her swam unsteadily and she reached a hand out to hold onto the balustrade. Her hand tightened around the wood as the roar in her ears drowned out the voices of the crowd until they became a muted and distant drone.

She locked eyes with the one person she had least expected to see and her legs quivered, threatening to buckle from beneath her. Perhaps she should have had more to eat at dinner this evening; she was starting to imagine things. Except in her imagination, Sin would never have greeted her with such barely contained fury.