Engaged in Sin (27 page)

“He insists he must stay away from Society,” Caro said. “When I told him he seemed to be quite fine, he said his improvement is all because of you. He told me he may never be able to marry, because he may never feel he could be with a wife without hurting her.”

“I know he feels that way, but I think he can be,” Anne said.

“This will seem an odd request, especially given what it will mean to you, but could you help him realize that himself? Would you do that for us—for his mother and his sisters?”

Anne’s heart wobbled. How could she deny his family, who only wanted him to be happy? “I promise I will encourage him to go home, to go out in Society, and to begin courting. I will do everything I can to make him believe it’s possible.”

She spoke to Devon about it that night, when they were alone again. “You see,” she said crisply. “Nothing bad happened during your sister’s visit. You could go home.”

“No, I’m not yet ready.” It was all he said. All he would say for the next two days.

Finally, as they sat in his study two evenings later, Anne brought out
The Mayfair Mansion
and, in as throaty and sultry a voice as she could adopt, described
a very sensual scene involving one gentleman and two bounteous courtesans. Then she snapped the book firmly shut.

“I will not describe another picture to you unless you cease to be so obstinate. You were afraid your nightmares would frighten your sister, but they didn’t. She was sympathetic, not horrified. As was Lord Cavendish.”

“Angel, you’re so determined to do this. Have you thought of what will happen to you? I thought you wanted to avoid London.”

“I do.” She shivered, relieved he could not see it. For her, it would be the best if he stayed in this house forever. But he had rescued her, and he deserved to be happy. “I—It’s just that I promised your sister I would try to convince you to go to your family.”

“You promised that?”

She waited for him to coolly point out she had no right to make promises, but he cocked his head. “If you’re so determined to get me back into Society, you must help me relearn some skills.”

“Skills? Which ones?”

He quirked a brow. “I was thinking of dice.”

“Dice!” she squawked. She was about to launch into all the protests she could think of, when she saw the twitch of his beautiful mouth. “All right. Do you wish to practice making wagers?”

“Exactly. Our wagers would be articles of clothing. Whoever loses has to remove a piece.”

“Indeed. And when would we stop?”

“When one of us is naked.”

Devon carefully explained the principles of hazard to her, but it seemed to be a game of complete chance to Anne. How could gentlemen wager such large amounts on something that depended on sheer luck and not skill? But she proved to possess a good amount of beginner’s
luck. She had Devon stripped down to only his trousers when Treadwell suddenly pushed the study door wide.

Devon turned to the door. “What is it? I’m busy gambling away the clothes on my back.”

Treadwell bowed. He looked warily to her, and Anne shrank back on her seat. Why did he glare at her like that? Dear heaven, was the magistrate at the door?

“Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace, but Lord Ashton has arrived. He’s brought a woman he claims is the courtesan he hired for you in London.”

Devon heard Cerise give a strangled cry. An obvious sign of distress, but over what exactly? “What in Hades are you talking about, Treadwell?” he asked coolly. “The courtesan Ashton sent is sitting right here with me.”

“Not according to Lord Ashton, Yer Grace. I took him and the lady to the drawing room.”

“Has he brought me another woman? A second one for my collection?” That would be like Tristan. He never kept the same lover for more than a fortnight. Tris would assume two ladybirds would be more entertaining than one.

“No, Yer Grace. According to His Lordship, he hadn’t sent ye a woman yet. Just the one he brought. His Lordship said he couldn’t find the right woman at first. Said he had to sample the ladybirds on offer to ensure he brought ye one ye’d like.”

Tris had not sent Cerise. Damn, he wanted to see. He wanted to know what expression was on her face. “Can you explain this, Cerise?” Tension crackled through him, his muscles instinctively tightening as they did when he sensed danger.

“I … All right, I admit I lied to you.”

“Why?” Her voice had come from the right but farther away than it should have. She must have left the seat beside him. Was she backing away? Preparing to
escape? “Come back here,” he growled. “Come and sit beside me, so I know where you are.”

Her skirts whispered as she returned. He could hear her fast, terrified breaths. “For the very reason I told you, Devon. I wanted to become a duke’s mistress. Your mistress, so I could escape London and the stews and the horrible life I knew at … at the brothel.”

“Still, I do not understand the necessity of the lie.”

“It was the only thing that got me through the door. It was only when I insisted Lord Ashton had sent me that Treadwell let me come in. I did it because I had nowhere else to go.”

“I made a mistake, Yer Grace,” Treadwell began, but Devon lifted a quelling hand.

“There was no reason to believe the story wasn’t true. You knew Ashton intended to send a woman. Right now I wish to speak to Cerise in private. Ask Ashton and his prostitute to wait, if they will.”

“Very good, Yer Grace.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Devon rubbed his temples, where a headache throbbed with a piercing rhythm. “Did Ashton go to you? Were you one he ‘sampled’?”

“No!” she cried. The settee creaked as she sat, but he barely felt the cushion dip. She must have perched on it, far away from him.

“Then how did you know to use his name to get through my door?”

“I did not mean any harm by it, I promise you, Devon. Lord Ashton came to a woman I know and asked her to be your lover. My friend has a protector, so she turned down his offer, but I was staying in her house and I overheard her conversation with Lord Ashton. I saw what a perfect chance it would be for me. I came to you without anyone knowing of it. Yes, I used his name so Treadwell
would let me in, but everything I’ve told you since then is true.”

It made sense. She had been desperate to leave Town and she had wanted to be more than a whore in a brothel. She’d wanted to move up in the world and find safety. She would want that whether she’d been a gentleman’s daughter, a governess, or a poor girl born in the stews. Why were his instincts on the alert, nagging him there was more? “Come.” He knew where she was by her voice. He grabbed what he hoped was her arm. “Ashton came all this way with a courtesan. I might as well show him I no longer have need of his gift.”

A burst of masculine laughter came from a doorway ahead, followed by a woman’s high-pitched giggles. Anne tensed. She knew Ashton and the courtesan he’d brought were only sharing a joke, but the raucous sound reminded her that people laughed and cheered around the gallows.

Devon stopped. “You’re afraid. I can feel your entire body stiffen.”

He felt that just through the touch of her hand on his arm? He had remarkable senses. “I told a lie involving this gentleman’s name. I fear his anger. I fear yours.”

His hand reached out, awkwardly found her cheek, and his thumb brushed her lips. Even in the grip of terror, she felt the answering tingle of her skin. She had thought he would throw her out as soon as she admitted she’d lied. Yet it appeared he would let her stay.

Delicately, his fingers touched her chin. He had found the tip of it readily and lifted it so she could look into his violet eyes. “I understand why you lied. You have nothing to fear from me if you are now telling me the truth.”

Oh, dear heaven, she felt how tense he was. He couldn’t look into her eyes and see guilt, but she was
certain he was listening for it.
If you are now telling me the truth
. He didn’t believe her story. He knew she’d lied once, and he must suspect she was doing so again. And she was.

“After all that you’ve done for me,” he said softly, “I would not send you away.”

Yes. Yes, you will, and you’ll hear of my hanging without a bit of remorse because I had to kill a woman, because I was a murderess, even though I didn’t mean to do it
. But Anne managed a quaking “Thank you” and prayed that didn’t give her away.

A flowery smell tickled her nose as they got near the door. Devon grimaced. “Scent. Ashton’s gift apparently applies it pretty thickly. Maybe she assumed it would help me find her.”

Anne looked at him quickly, astonished to see a grim smile. It felt like a mere heartbeat later that she was standing in the middle of the drawing room, while Devon explained to Lord Ashton the story she had told him. She had seen Lord Ashton at Kat’s—he was an angelic-looking man with white-blond hair and dark-blue eyes. The courtesan, Miss Lacy, was a very voluptuous, bold brunette.

“I am so sorry I used your name falsely, Lord Ashton. But I ran away—”

Devon held up his hand. “Miss Lacy, my dear, you must be tired after your travel. My butler, Treadwell, will escort you to one of the bedchambers, where you can rest.”

Miss Lacy perked up at the word
bedchamber
. She flashed coquettish smiles at both men, then followed Treadwell out.

Devon waved his hand. “Continue, Cerise.”

Anne took a deep breath. She hadn’t been able to fool Devon with her faked climaxes. Could she be convincing now? “I ran away from a brothel. You see, I had
disobeyed my madam and I—I feared she would hunt me down and hurt me, or kill me, for my disobedience. I went to a friend, and she took me in. But my very presence in her house put her in grave danger. My madam employed brutish men to keep her girls in line. They would not think twice about killing an innocent woman because she was in their way or she knew too much.”

“Who is your friend, love?” the Earl of Ashton asked, drawing her gaze from Devon.

She couldn’t lie—Ashton would probably remember the courtesans he’d talked to. In this, she had to tell the truth. “My friend is Katherine Tate.”

“Kat?” Ashton echoed in surprise. “Kat took you in and protected you? Kat is an exotic beauty and highly skilled in the bedroom, but I never would have guessed she would help a damsel in distress. She is also a friend of March’s, which was why I approached her.”

“We knew each other … a long time ago,” Anne said. “Kat was very good to me. She explained to me the details of being a mistress. And she told me a great deal about His Grace. About how wonderful he was reputed to be as a protector.”

A low, dangerous laugh rumbled from Devon. “Wonderful? When I once told her I wasn’t interested in becoming her protector, she chucked a china shepherdess at me.” He sighed. “Angel, I want the complete truth from you. What did you do to this madam of yours?”

Her heart froze. What could she say? “I—I helped …” Oh, God, she couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth. Some of it, at least. “I helped three of her newest girls escape. The girls were innocents and Ma—my madam had hoped to auction their virginity.”

“Very noble and brave,” Lord Ashton commended.

Devon lifted a brow. He was listening intently, and she felt as if he could hear her very thoughts. “Indeed,” he said softly. “Not surprising. But I doubt she would kill
you over that. She might beat you and force you to—” He stopped. Raked his hand through his hair. “I want you to go up to bed, Cerise. I’ll join you soon.”

She had to leave. But what would Devon and Ashton say once she’d gone?

Devon smelled the smoke of a cheroot. “Intriguing,” Tris remarked. “She told you I had sent her so she could have the chance to become your mistress.”

Her story was entirely believable and highly sympathetic, so why had his gut clenched the way it would before the first cannon blast of a battle? Hell, he’d practically smelled her fear, and he knew the distinct aroma of it from the war.

“Who is she, Dev? She spoke of living in a brothel, but she’s no dockyard tart. She speaks like a lady.”

“She claims to be a housekeeper’s daughter, one who lived on a country estate but ended up in London’s stews. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s a lie also. I intend to find out.”

“I find her fascinating,” Tris said.

“She’s mine,” Devon asserted.

Tristan’s swift, knowing laugh raked over him. “You answered that one quickly. Don’t worry. I’m a guest in your house. I would never dream of poaching on your preserve.” With the groan of a man relaxing in a chair, Tris asked, “So, is it any different to make love to a woman when you’re blind? Is it worse or is it actually better?”

Trust his friend to speak directly of his blindness without care or caution.

“Is it any different from having sex in the dark?”

“It’s different,” he replied, his voice curt and abrupt.

“How—” Tris began, but Devon glowered and his friend shut his mouth.

Devon snapped grumpily, “Of course it isn’t the same. A man can always strike a light in the dark.”

“Ah, there are times a man doesn’t want to.”

“Maybe you aren’t so discriminating, but I am. I don’t even know exactly what she looks like, and I never will.”

“She? Ah, Cerise. She is lovely, by the way. I assume you’ve thoroughly explored her with your hands and mouth?”

“Yes. But there’s a lot about her that I can’t assess by touch, taste, or smell. There’s no one in this house I can ask to describe her. How do you ask another man to describe your mistress?”

“I’d be happy to describe her in detail for you.”

“I’m sure you would be,” Devon growled. “I’d likely end up punching you in the nose.”

“Whoever she is,” Tristan said, “she’s managed to make a remarkable change in you. You were an unkempt, hairy mess the last time I came, stinking of spilled brandy and refusing to leave your gloomy study. Now you look like the man I remember from our days in London before the war and before—”

“Before Rosalind’s death. I may look different, but I don’t think I feel any different. And now my mistress has joined in my mother’s campaign to convince me to return to Town and start courting a bride.”