Lord of Sin. Susan Krinard
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Ears pricked and nostrils flared as the pack closed in. Reddick chuckled. “Has Adele demanded a few too many fripperies this month?” he asked Sinjin. “Has she found a more generous patron? If not, I shall be more than happy to take her off your hands.”
“Adele,” Sinjin said between his teeth, “is free to make her own decisions. I suggest we change the subject.”
“But why are we here if not to talk of women?” Nash asked. “If it’s not Adele, who is it?”
Leo set down his empty glass. “Have any of you been introduced to Lady Charles Parkhill?”
“Erskine…” Sinjin growled.
“We saw her at the Academy,” Leo continued. “Sin quite admired her.”
“Ah, yes,” Breakspear said. “She has only just come to London this Season. Never been before, I hear. Parkhill hid her away on his estate.” He shook his head. “At least the unfortunate man had a fair companion to comfort him in his final hours.”
“Is it true that she is a country curate’s daughter?” Waybury asked. “Poor Lord Charles wouldn’t have had many opportunities to meet potential wives, especially the sort who’d be content to give him constant nursing. Do you suppose he hoped to obtain an heir before he—”
“Enough about Parkhill,” Sinjin said. “Let the man rest in peace.”
“I wonder if his little widow is resting peacefully,” Nash said. “If she had so little enjoyment of her marriage, she might be—”
“Enough.” Sinjin felt the irrational desire to plant his fist in Nash’s face. He must be going insane.
And all because of her.
“I see that we have struck a nerve,” Breakspear said in a loud whisper.
Sinjin poured himself a brandy, splashing the liquor over the sides of the glass. “Melbyrne!”
The boy looked up, his eyes dazed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you going to sit in that corner all evening?”
Felix got up hastily, smoothed his coat and joined the others. “I’m sorry. Were we discussing Salisbury? I think—”
Breakspear laughed. “The subject is the ladies,” he said, “and Sin’s nasty mood.” He peered into Melbyrne’s eyes. “I say, what’s going on in that head of yours, boy? Have you finally been stricken by some pretty face?”
“I was never convinced that the initiation took with our junior member,” Nash said. “Perhaps we ought to repeat the exercise.”
Felix drew himself up. “I may be young,” he said, “but I am not a fool.”
“Perhaps you’ve also admired Lady Charles?”
The boy flushed. Sinjin downed the brandy in one swallow. He knew exactly what Felix had been thinking while he’d been sitting alone, looking like nothing less than an habitué of an opium den.
Lady Orwell. When they’d met Lady Oxenham and her friends in Hyde Park, Melbyrne had sat on his horse with his mouth agape, as tongue-tied as a girl at her first dance. He hadn’t listened to the advice Sinjin had given him at the Academy; to the contrary, his introduction to the lady in question had obviously increased his admiration.
“It is not Lady Charles,” Melbyrne said with a false air of indifference.
“Out with it, boy,” Nash said. “We have sworn to be brothers and keep no secrets amongst us.”
Melbyrne looked at Sinjin and dropped his gaze. “Mrs. Tissier!” he blurted.
Everyone laughed. “Was that your idea, Sinjin?” Nash asked.
“Why should it be?” Sinjin said, his equanimity restored. “As Melbyrne said, he’s no fool.”
“She’s already agreed, then?” said Breakspear. “It’s all arranged?”
“She’ll take you on a long, sweet ride…won’t she, Sin?” Nash said.
“One might ask you the same question,” retorted Waybury.
They launched into a testy but civilized quarrel. Sinjin took Felix aside.
“Has it been arranged?” he asked.
“I haven’t asked her yet,” Melbyrne said, meeting Sinjin’s gaze stubbornly. “But from all you’ve said, it should not be difficult to win her.”
“There are ways to go about this sort of thing. I’ll speak to you about it tomorrow, before the parade.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Sinjin slapped the young man’s shoulder. “You’ve made an excellent choice, Melbyrne.”
Felix attempted a grin, turned to the sideboard and reached for a bottle. Sinjin left him to it. One by one the men departed, called to some dinner or other amusement. Melbyrne was last to leave, all studied nonchalance as if he were set on proving to the world that he was far older than his twenty-two years.
Sinjin lit another cigar and sat in his favorite chair, alone with the empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays. In a moment the parlor maid would cautiously knock on the door and enter to clean up the mess. Sinjin was in no hurry to summon her.
Though there had obviously been some reluctance on Melbyrne’s part, he had finally chosen a wise course of action. Tissier would take him in hand, and when they parted, as they eventually must, he would no longer play the mooncalf with naive young widows who would only bring him grief.
Sinjin’s unwilling thoughts drifted to Lady Charles, and instantly his cock hardened. There was no reason for such a reaction, none whatsoever; he had certainly felt no attraction to her when she’d posed as a maid at Donbridge, and their dealings after she had shed her disguise had not been cordial.
But when they’d met again in Hyde Park, something had come over him. Something that flew in the face of every feeling he had nurtured since he’d seen her at the Academy.
He closed his eyes and imagined Adele waiting for him, sprawled across her bed in the little house on Circus Road, her breasts creamy mounds, her nipples stiffening at his touch. He might forget his evening obligations and spend the night with her. Her skill would silence even the memory of Nuala and this new identity she had claimed for herself.
But not for long. Lady Charles would still be there when he rolled out of bed.
Sinjin stubbed out his cigar and got to his feet. The time for putting off their meeting was over. He went into his study, opened the drawer of his desk and glanced through the invitations he had received in the past several weeks.
The dowager Duchess of Vardon’s garden party. He had intended to tender last-minute regrets, but no longer. Lady Charles was one of the eccentric dowager’s cronies. She would certainly be there. And in such a crush, no one would notice if he drew the lady aside for a friendly conversation.
CHAPTER THREE
“ARE YOU CERTAIN you wish to do this, Deborah?” Nuala asked.
The girl nodded, a brief jerk of her head that seemed more an act of defiance than agreement. “I wish to help,” she said, “not spend all my time attending frivolous entertainments.”
Frances looked at her curiously. “Did you not enjoy such pleasures in Paris?”
“We preferred museums and the opera to balls and grand dinner parties,” Deborah said.
Nuala wondered if the girl were speaking the entire truth. She had probably never thought to consider her own preferences at all; she had been a great deal younger than her expatriate husband, carried almost directly out of a sheltered childhood into the world of marriage. She’d had little