A Little Bit Sinful (7 page)

“When?” he asked.

Her cheeks pinkened. “Yes, well I realize I have been ill mannered when it comes to you on more than one occasion.” She looked up at him. “It does seem that you have a tendency to bring that out in me, being around you makes me forget my manners and I’m far more likely to speak my mind. My apologies.”

He nodded. “It is a strange thing to apologize for, would you not agree? What if I prefer you speak your mind? Prefer that you’re honest? Prefer you to simply be yourself?”

She looked up at him a moment and he was struck by how perfectly beautiful she was, with her sparkling blue eyes and lips that he knew were far softer and more pliable than he had a right to know.

“Do you prefer that from everyone?” she asked.

“I’m not speaking of anyone but you, but I suppose yes, I think people should be honest.” His eyes met hers. “And I do know other things about you. You need not pretend about anything around me.”

She nodded. “You have done quite well tonight.”

“What does that mean?” he asked. She was much shorter than him; he couldn’t help noticing, so very feminine. He rather enjoyed having her in his arms in the midst of the people around them, having an acceptable excuse to put his hands at the curve of her waist, be close enough to catch the lovely lemon scent of her hair.

“Merely that you do very well blending in with everyone here.”

Blending because he didn’t belong—is what she meant? Clarissa didn’t mean it poorly. It was the way she’d been raised, the way they’d all been raised—these people surrounding him tonight. How could she apologize in one breath and in the next insult him again? Then he realized she didn’t mean it as an insult. More than likely she thought she paid him a compliment. Still her words stung.

He knew he didn’t belong here. He’d known that his entire life. And some people felt the need to remind him of that. But he also knew that regardless of what people thought of him, he’d been invited and he’d come and he would do his damnedest to blend in as much as possible because that made people uncomfortable.

That didn’t really explain why he was truly there. He did feel indebted to the Kincaid family since they’d always been so welcoming of him. But he knew his recent jaunt into Society had more to do with a certain Kincaid than out of gratitude to the entire brood.

“Chrissy, you look beautiful tonight,” he said, knowing fully that the compliment would make her uncomfortable.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked.

She looked up at him and the startling shade of blue in her eyes met his. “Because it irritates you. And when you’re irritated, you get feisty. I like it when you’re feisty, when I can see the fire burn behind your eyes. It makes you more interesting.”

She took a deep breath and swallowed, then schooled her features so that she was once again pretty Clarissa Kincaid, not his spirited Chrissy.

“I imagine you know all manner of secrets about many of the families in this room,” she said. She looked around at the couples dancing near them. “I suspect you also make many of them quite nervous simply by being here.”

Justin glanced around. “You are right on both accounts. You are obviously uneasy about dancing with me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You insist on talking.”

“It is what we’re supposed to do whilst we dance,” she said. “Why, what do you think dancing is about?”

“Holding a beautiful woman close in your arms. The music, the swell of the strings, the way our bodies move as one. The heated pink stain in your cheeks, the catch of your breath, the way your back feels against my hand. The fact that in just the right angles I get a tantalizing view down your bodice.”

Her mouth had fallen open, but she came to her senses and closed it.

“
That
is what dancing is about to me.”

“Well,” she said as she tilted her chin up, “perhaps that is what it is to some. But for proper society, it is about witty conversation.”

“We can talk if it will put you more at ease.”

She grinned, satisfied with his acquiesce. “Will you tell me some of them?”

“Some of what?” he asked.

“The secrets? The gambling details?” she asked.

“Chrissy, shame on you,” he said with a grin of his own. “I am discreet, you know that. It is a hallmark of my business. Rodale’s wouldn’t be nearly as popular a gaming hell if people thought their secrets were being bandied about at the balls.” He swirled her around the dance floor, noting that she felt rather perfect in his arms. It had been years since he’d danced. He’d forgotten that, at times, it could be enjoyable.

“You are no fun at all,” she said.

He considered her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, I offer a deal instead,” he said. “You provide me with some tidbit of gossip you know and I will give you a piece of information in return. Tit for tat, if you will.”

Clarissa looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. She nodded slowly. “I suppose I could do that. Ella’s mother does love her gossip so I hear my fair share of it.”

“Ah, well then our deal is off,” he said.

Her expression fell into disappointment. “Whatever for?”

“How can I trust you not to share these bits of gossip with her? Rodale’s would be ruined if word got out that I had divulged private information with you,” he said.

“But
I
am not the gossip,” she said. She bit at her lip. “What if I promise not to? You can trust me.”

He raised one brow. “Can I?”

She sucked in a breath, but never took her eyes off him. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Of course you can.”

“Excellent. You go first. Tell me about that woman,” he said nodding to the woman dancing next to them. She was probably in her fourth decade and age was beginning to show in her features, though she still worked hard to make herself look attractive. The man she danced with was clearly younger than her, but seemed pleased to have the lady in his arms.

Clarissa looked over and nodded briefly. “That is Lady Bandy,” she said quietly. “She has been a widow for years. It is said she takes a new lover at the start of every Season.”

Justin smiled. “Now then. I could tell you that Lord Bleacher has a significant problem with hazard.”

Clarissa’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

“He has virtually no luck at all. He owes a tremendous amount of money, but he has more than that in his coffers, so I suspect no one overly cares.” He looked around again. “The group of women standing over there near the refreshment table, tell me about the one in the green dress.”

She glanced over, then pinched her features. “That is Mildred Cutter and
she
refuses to wear corsets.” Clarissa shook her head as if that was a truly vile offense.

Justin chuckled. “Shocking,” he said.

“Do not mock, it is not as if she does not need one.”

He looked back over at the woman.

“Stop it, now you’re staring. Tell me about Viscount Sanders, I’ve heard he has a terrible gambling problem,” she said.

He sighed. “Yes, it is significant. Poor fellow, he has terrible instincts, plays all the wrong people. I am working with him and he owes me a lot of money. Last week I sent him away. I will no longer allow him to play with money he does not have.”

She shook her head almost in disbelief, then a slight furrowing of her brow. “That was very kind of you.”

Justin nearly missed a step. The way she was looking at him as if he’d done something amazing when he’d only done the responsible thing, save his business from more losses.

“I don’t suppose it will prevent him from going to another establishment,” she said.

“No, and men enjoy playing with him because they know they’ll win. If he’s not careful, he’ll lose his house. He’s already had to dismiss most of his servants.”

“That’s terrible. Explains why his wife was so quiet at the card party the other day,” Clarissa said.

The song ended and he stopped their dancing. He took her arm to lead her back to Ella. “How was your dance with George?”

She stopped abruptly and looked up at him. “It was as enjoyable as that particular dance can be. It’s not one of my favorites.”

His brows rose. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“I suppose you saw him leave with Miss Cooper as well. Have they returned?”

“She returned sometime during our dance. I have not seen Wilbanks,” he said.

“You notice everything, don’t you?”

“I have to at Rodale’s so it carries over to wherever I am.” He’d been like that as a boy, though. Roe’s mother had always told him it was a good trait and it would serve him well in life.

“Thank you for a lovely dance,” she said.

“You’re welcome. I hope to see you soon.” He bowed to her and walked away. He rolled his eyes. She had taken him off guard, though, with the moony way she’d looked at him, the awe in her voice. He was not some hero to be applauded. He was nothing more than a businessman. A bastard.

Chapter Seven

A
fter he’d left the ball, Justin returned to Rodale’s. The gaming floor was still a little quiet, but people were beginning to arrive. He nodded to the few men gathered at a table playing baccarat, then made his way up the stairs to the offices. He had no sooner entered the room when Clipps cleared his throat.

“I have found out some information on that bloke you wanted me to look into.”

Justin sat and eyed his friend. “Spill it, man.”

“He frequents Rafferty’s.”

So Justin’s instinct had been correct. George had told Clarissa his debts were at Rodale’s because it was the most respectable hell. Rafferty’s was another gaming hell, perhaps equally as popular as Rodale’s, but in a very different part of town, down on the docks of the Thames. “And you’re certain?”

“Yes, I followed him myself. On two separate evenings he left here and went there. I spoke with a handful of workers there that knew him by name and said he came several nights a week. He has a penchant for fighting.”

“Boxing? Well, that explains why he isn’t playing here more often, if that’s his preference for wagering. Does he bet only or does he fight?”

“Oh, he fights. Inside the ring and out, evidently he has quite the temper. He’s quite good though, I’m told, doesn’t owe them money either,” Clipps said.

A temper. So the man liked plenty of women and he had a penchant for hitting things. Not a good combination, and most certainly not a good choice for Clarissa. Justin would never forgive himself it he stood by and allowed her to marry the man and then found out he hit her. He’d kill George Wilbanks himself if that happened. “Thank you, Clipps.” Frequenting Rafferty’s alone would have been enough to prove Wilbanks wasn’t the right man for her. That club had dedicated itself to serving the needs of those who preferred more risky methods of entertainment. “Did he accompany anyone there or did he go alone?” Justin asked.

“Alone, but it did not take him long to find companionship for the evening.”

This was the man that Clarissa said she intended to marry and he’d already lied to her about having debts. But why lie about money owed? Even if the man did prefer a gaming hell on the docks inhabited by opium addicts and high stake games.

Justin needed additional information. She deserved more than a man who would lie to her, let alone one would be unfaithful and strike her in anger.

“What do you want me to do now?” Clipps asked.

“Nothing. I’ll look into matters further.” He nodded to the ledger books on Clipps’s desk.

“How is he doing here?”

“Winning. When he plays. He doesn’t always play. He has a drink, makes a few wagers, and then slips out.”

Justin made a note to check the wager book before he left to see where Clarissa stood that day. If the bets were favoring her, then he would need to move quickly to dissuade her from her plan.

It sounded as if George Wilbanks did not prefer Rodale’s at all; he merely used it as a cover for him to enjoy Rafferty’s. Before Justin said anything to Clarissa, he needed to be certain. He would go there himself and see what Wilbanks was up to.

But first he wanted to see Clarissa again, try to talk some sense into her. He’d practically grown up in the Kincaid townhome and he still remembered all the ways to sneak in and out, methods he and Marcus had perfected as boys. He just hoped Clarissa’s bedchamber was still in the same spot.

…

Clarissa rolled over again, situating herself amidst the pillows and held the book up to see it in the glow from the lantern. She hated feeling so confused. Before Justin had come back into her life, she’d never once questioned whether or not George was the man for her. Rebecca had suggested him and Clarissa had spent the majority of her adult life pursuing that relationship.

And she knew she should trust Rebecca’a advice. Clarissa had not done well at all when she’d selected her first suitor. Christopher had broken her heart and nearly stolen all of her jewelry she had from her mother. He’d then moved on from her to another heiress and then another and finally had been shunned from Society. Last she heard he was living somewhere in Scotland. She had learned then that her choices weren’t always the best and it was better for her to trust someone else’s guidance, namely her sister-in-law’s.

Then Rebecca had died and left Clarissa with one last piece of advice—
that’s the type of man you should marry
. Since Rebecca was no longer around to give her other suggestions of the “type” Clarissa had simply stuck with George. Until Justin and his shocking words and delicious kisses and his reciting of Shakespeare, she’d been content to wait for George to propose. Now it seemed she didn’t have the luxury of waiting—she had competition.

She’d watched Franny Cooper tonight. The woman was so comfortable with men, easy with them, flirting appeared effortless and it never seemed she reserved those sweet smiles for only the wealthy handsome men; she treated all of them the same. Even the old, balding men, she would pat them on the arm with her fan and release one of her twittering laughs. Everyone liked her, men and women, old and young. She, it seemed, was the perfect lady.

Somehow Clarissa had fallen short yet again, and she hadn’t a clue how to fix it or how to change herself. She’d tried to seek out Justin to teach her to be more worldly, but that had only seemed to make her want him more than she already had.

There was a creak outside her door and she wondered if Aunt Maureen had roused for something, a drink perhaps. Clarissa sat up in bed, listening intently and then her door opened.

It was on her tongue to ask if Maureen felt all right, but then Clarissa realized who had entered her room.

“Justin? What the devil are you doing here?” She pulled the coverlet up her chest to try to cover herself. Her nightrail was not particularly revealing, but was certainly more flimsy than a day dress.

“I wanted to see you,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Do you want me to leave?”

She couldn’t make herself say the word, so she merely shook her head. “How did you get in here?”

He grinned. “Not much has changed here.”

“I suppose that is true.” Her eyes traveled around her room and she caught sight of her dressing gown draped across her vanity chair. “Could you hand me that?” She pointed to it.

He retrieved it and brought it to her, then turned away from her without her having to ask. He was a bit of a contradiction at times. Seducing her with sinful kisses one day and behaving the gentleman the next. It was enough to make a girl’s head spin.

She crawled out of bed and in doing so she knocked her book to the floor. While he bent to pick it up, she pulled on her dressing gown.

“Shakespeare,” he said as he turned to face her.

“Yes, well, you reminded me that I had not read him in a while.” It wasn’t really the truth. This particular volume of his sonnets stayed next to her bed all the time, she read it almost daily. But she didn’t want Justin to know how much his wooing charade had affected her.

He came to stand in front of her. He leaned close, then around her to place the book on the bed behind her. He was so close she had a difficult time breathing, he smelled so good too, all masculine and clean and Justin. She resisted the urge to inhale deeply.

“What was it you wanted to see me about?”

He leaned in and put his nose beside her left ear and slowly inhaled. “You smell nice,” he said as if he’d read her mind.

Chills scattered all over Clarissa’s body and she felt her breasts tighten.
Oh my
. Had he come here to seduce her? Her pulse sped up as did her breathing. She wasn’t certain that if that was in fact his intention she had the strength to tell him no. She knew she didn’t want to.

He leaned even closer and she felt his warm breath on her neck. She closed her eyes just as he took her earlobe in his mouth and suckled it.

Desire coiled so quickly through her body, she feared she would melt into the plush rug beneath her feet. She turned her head ever so slightly and he grabbed her fiercely and pressed his lips to hers. His body molded against hers pressing her already sensitive breasts to his chest.

Kissing in nothing more than her night clothes was a different experience than doing so while fully clothed. At the moment she had no buffer between her breasts and his body other than the sheer fabric of her dressing gown and nightrail. As he kissed her, he pressed against her and with each slight movement, the fabric brushed against her aching nipples until she thought she’d go mad from it.

He pushed her back onto her bed and fell over her, all the while trailing searing kisses over her neck, collarbone and ears.

Oh, how she wanted him. Wanted whatever pleasure he could give her. She knew it was wrong. She knew it was improper, immoral even. But she also knew it was completely irresistible.

His lips met hers and his tongue tantalized her. Teasing, licking, stroking until she thought she would go mad. Their tongues stroked and played and shivers cascaded over her like delicious waterfalls of pleasure.

She felt his arousal push into her belly and she instinctively pushed against him.

His hand slid up her abdomen and cupped her right breast. Her back arched, and she felt her nipples harden. Good heavens, she’d never felt such sensations. He kneaded the sensitive flesh and the tingles between her legs intensified.

With a movement full of impatience, he slipped his hand beneath her dressing gown and stroked her aching nipple through the soft fabric of her nigthrail. His mouth left hers and blazed a trail to her ear, then down her throat and finally took the place of his hand. He kissed her breast through the fabric and she wanted to ask him to tear it off her, to touch her flesh, but she kept her mouth shut.

She bucked against him, wanting more, wanting release, wanting him.

“Oh, Justin.”

“I know what you want, love,” he said.

He dipped the fabric down, looked at her exposed breast for several breaths and then lowered his mouth to her. She plunged her fingers into his hair and did her best to not cry out so delicious were the pleasures he created.

“I want you,” she whispered, unable to keep the sentiment to herself any longer.

He swore, then rolled off her. He came to his feet and stepped away from her, his hands clenched at his sides. “Chrissy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He shook his head.

She covered herself back up and slowly came to her feet. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t do this. Not with you.” Then he turned and slipped out the door.

Not with her? What did that mean? What was the matter with her? He had told her on more than occasion he found her beautiful. So why not her?

More importantly why did she need him to want her? He was certainly not a suitor and they were not going to marry, so why did it matter? The easy answer was because it felt good. She was obviously attracted to him and his touch did amazing things to her body.

She’d never before been touched or kissed in such a way, and though it might be horribly unladylike, she loved it, loved the desire coursing thick through her blood. It wasn’t merely the sensations, though, because deep down she knew those embraces wouldn’t be the same with just anyone.

It terrified her to examine the situation closer to discover the truth. She was playing a dangerous game, and if she kept at it, she knew she would lose.

…

What the hell had he been thinking? Justin chose to send his rig on the way and walk home, hoping the cool night air would chill away his residual desire. He’d almost taken her. She would have allowed him to, but he could not ask that of her. He’d marry her, but damned if that would ruin her life as she imagined it. Her late sister-in-law, Rebecca, had never cared for him. He’d known that when he was younger. She’d found him sullen, and though she’d never said anything, he always felt she thought his birth made him unfit to be so friendly with their family.

He needed to take more care where Chrissy was concerned. He could not afford to hurt her. He’d only intended to speak with her about George, tell her the truth about his behavior. Certainly she wouldn’t want to marry a man who enjoyed physically pounding on people. But she could only make that decision if he actually gave her the information instead of pawing at her like some randy schoolboy. Next time he saw her, he’d tell her the truth about George.

…

After much deliberation and a letter from Vivian again detailing how beneficial his assistance could be, Justin had agreed to court Miss Riverton. So it was that he found himself attending yet another ball only two days after the last one. This was becoming a disturbing pattern. It has also been the night he’d gone to see Chrissy and he knew he needed to talk to her, give her some explanation, but what would he say? He couldn’t tell her the truth.

That he wanted her for himself.

In the meantime, he’d keep his focus on Miss Riverton and hope that when it came time to speak to Clarissa, he found the right words. They were dancing now, he and Betsy, and she was a pleasant girl, if not a little overly verbose.

Justin could feel Clarissa’s eyes on him even as he twirled Miss Riverton around the ballroom floor. She was a sweet girl, though she chattered incessantly about horses. A fine species they were, and quite necessary for transportation, but he’d never had a particular affinity for the creatures. Perhaps her fascination with them was why other men had not been interested in courting her. Still, he had agreed to stand in as a suitor for her to get the attention of perhaps some other men.

“Miss Riverton,” he said.

She started at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry I was going on again.” She gave him a weak smile. “I suppose I blather on when I get nervous.”

“First, you shouldn’t be nervous. I am merely a man. Also, one thing you should take note of with most men, they like to talk about themselves,” he said. “Do not change who you are for any man, the lot of them aren’t worth it, but perhaps take a breath every now and again to allow the man to get a word in.”

That earned him a bigger smile. “I suspect that is quite excellent advice, Mr. Rodale. Thank you. Would you like to talk about yourself?”