The Duke's Night of Sin

T
he ancient hall was bustling with excited guests waiting for the presentation of the new Duke of Exeter. It was to be the bachelor’s grand debut in London Society since ascending to the title—which, of course brought everyone with a daughter even close to marriageable age to seek an invitation to the glittering event.

After all, a young, fit, unmarried man was all
too quickly becoming a rare commodity in these turbulent war-torn times, but a duke … and a handsome one at that (or so it was rumored—for no member of the
ton
had actually reported
seeing
the man), well, he was a rare prize indeed.

Even so, the novelty of the evening had already worn gossamer thin for Lady Siusan Sinclair. She was very likely the only miss in the hall who did not wish to be there. “I daresay, we’ve stayed long enough, Priscilla. No man is worth waiting about for four long hours—especially in this crowd.”

Her younger sister’s eyes went wide at Siusan’s sacrilegious words. “An unmarried duke is entirely worth the wait!”

Siusan rolled her eyes as she dabbed her moist neck with her handkerchief.

“And do not dare perspire,” Priscilla warned, critically studying the cerulean silk dress Siusan wore. “I only lent you the gown upon your solemn oath that you would not ruin it. That includes perspiring.” She snatched up Siusan’s wrist. “Come now, make use of your fan. Mine is keeping me sufficiently cool. A true lady does not perspire. Remember that.”

“Aye, Priscilla, I know, however if we do not leave at once—”

“I am certain you can manage to refrain from glowing for a few more minutes.” Priscilla narrowed her eyes at Siusan, then rose to her toes to survey the ballroom. “The duke will appear at any moment, I have no doubt. I shouldn’t need to remind you of our predicament. His Grace is unmarried and from the country, some dreary old place in Devonshire. I am sure he has never even heard of the Sinclairs, and that fact works in our favor. Our chances of snaring his ring are as good as any other noble miss’s.”

Siusan stood on the tips of her toes as well and glanced about before returning her heels to the floor, pulling Priscilla down along with her. She moved her mouth close to her younger sister’s ear, for as the daughter of a duke herself, Siusan was nothing if not well trained. Like her brothers and sisters, she simply did not always choose to adhere to the rules of propriety in the
strictest
sense. “Keeping us all waiting for his glorious presence, bah. I daresay, the duke is clearly very rude. Perhaps you are right, Priscilla. He may fit in with the Seven Deadly Sins nicely.”

“Hush. Do not refer to our family so vilely. That others do does not make it acceptable.” Priscilla glanced around them to be sure Siusan’s assertion was not overheard. Convinced that it was not,
she growled into Siusan’s ear. “And besides,
my
future husband is not rude.”

“Your
husband, dear? Did you not just claim that
our
chance for winning his ring were just as favorable as anyone else’s?”

“Aye, but I meant that
my
chances are equal. Not yours. Do you not recall that I voiced my claim on the duke the moment we stepped down from the carriage?”

“Good Lord, are you still six years old?” Her sister’s reliance on an old game might have been diverting at another time, but not tonight. “The wretched duke still hasn’t had the courtesy to grace those waiting for him with his esteemed noble presence. Besides which, Priscilla, you cannot claim the duke unless you see him
first.
That is the primary rule of the game.”

Priscilla suddenly looked very determined. “Then I shall ensure that I do see him first.” She started off through the crowd, leaving Siusan to scurrying to catch up. Within a minute, Priscilla had climbed a step and positioned herself on the far edge of the musicians’ dais.

“Priscilla, you are being a great goose. Come down. Please, let us find our brothers and away.”

Priscilla’s gaze swept the ballroom as she replied. “I have an elevated view of the ballroom
from here, and I will signal you posthaste the moment the duke appears.” She turned her eyes back upon Siusan. “That way you will know he has arrived … and that
I
saw him first.”

Her sister was being ridiculous. Siusan swiped her cutwork fan before her face, hoping to coax the humid air into cooling her face. On another night, the prospect of meeting a strikingly handsome unmarried duke might have been sufficient incentive for Siusan to cram herself into a rented coach with her brothers and sister and ride eight dusty miles outside of Town.

But not tonight … of all painful nights.

All she wanted tonight was to be alone with her memories. But solitude wasn’t a luxury she could afford. She and her wayward siblings, widely known within Society as the Seven Deadly Sins, had only accepted tonight’s invitation for one simple reason—they were willing to do anything to earn back their father’s approval. Not because they were truly ashamed of their wild and wicked ways, for indeed they were not.

Their motivation did not run quite so clear and deep. It was because the money their father, the Duke of Sinclair, provided them was only just enough to meet their most basic of needs, and even those funds were quickly dwindling. Their
father’s man of affairs had made it startlingly clear that no further pouches of coin were to make their way into the Sinclair brothers’ and sisters’ hands until they changed their wild ways and earned the respect the Sinclair name deserved. They all knew that time was fast running out.

And, well, there was an unmarried duke to be had. What quicker way for her or her sister to restore respectability than to marry a duke?

She glanced up at Priscilla, who was earnestly sweeping the dance floor with her gaze.

Well, her sister could have him. Tonight, Siusan just didn’t care—about dukes, money, even her father’s respect. With a sniff, Siusan raised her chin and surreptitiously dabbed a lace handkerchief to an errant tear budding in her eye.

Tonight marked one year. A full heart-breaking year without Simon. And despite her brother Grant’s good intentions, no amount of whisky en route to the gala could lessen the aching heaviness in her heart this night. The spirits only made her head spin.

Gads, she wanted nothing more than to leave this place and to be alone. The moist heat emanating from the sweating hordes of ladies in pale silk gowns and gentlemen in dark coats thickened the air, adding to her irritation.

It was hard enough for Siusan to breathe in her overtight corset, but the stays were a necessary evil to fit into Priscilla’s cerulean gown.
Simon had always favored her in blue, and this gown in particular.

The backs of her eyes began to sting anew. Lud, the crush of perspiring bodies was unbearable! What benefit would the beautiful silk gown be to either of the Sinclair sisters if it became sodden with perspiration and ruined?

Nay, she had to remove herself from the crowd, if she could just slip outside into the unseasonably cool air for just a few moments, maybe she would be able to rein in her grief and mask herself with the composure expected of a Sinclair.

She made her way through the ballroom into a grand entry hall. The vaulted ceilings were higher there, but three small windows were no match for the body heat of hundreds below.

Och, where was the door? Like the other Sinclairs, Siusan was extraordinarily tall, and by standing on her toes, she barely managed to see over the shifting sea of guests to a darkened passage just ahead to her left. She made for it, but the crush of humanity was too great. She could not move through the crowd. And then she saw him. A tall officer with gleaming red hair … and God above, could she be mistaken, or was he wearing
the uniform of the Royal Scots Greys? It was eerie how much he resembled Simon.

Her heart thrummed in her chest.
Simon?
Of course, it could not be … and yet—she had to get closer. She tried to follow him through the crowd. Aye, his tunic was scarlet with blue garter facings and a gold-and-blue-striped sash around the waist. Simon’s regimental dress uniform. The one he’d been wearing when he asked her father for her hand.

Gritting her teeth, she focused on the shifting sea of people.

“Sir. I say, sir!” she called out to him. A quartet of people parted to let Siusan through. “Please, wait for me. I see you.” She pushed forward, squeezing her way down the hall. “Please do excuse me. He is just
there.
Thank you. Thank you ever so much.” She edged her hip sideways through the next gathering, but she was losing sight of him. She raised her hand into the air. “Please wait. Just another moment.”

But after a minute, he had disappeared. She had crossed the entire grand hall, but he was gone. Siusan started back, still scanning the crowd for any glimpse of the officer. Of course it was not Simon, but rather her mind playing tricks on her eyes, filling in Simon’s features for those she
hadn’t seen clearly enough. Her eyes were stinging. Logically, she knew this, but still she kept searching. She had to see his face fully to tamp out this foolish fantasy that somehow Simon was here and had not died from his wounds.

Stop this folly, Siusan! Simon died,
she reminded herself.
You saw him die.

She spun around, unable to give up her search. Mayhap he knew her Simon, could tell more about what happened at Waterloo. After Simon returned from the battle, his mind was oft dull with laudanum. The words he managed to speak were sharp and cruel, likely coaxed between his lips from pain.

Suddenly, she spied a hallway she hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps he went down the passage. It was possible.

The temperature of the dimly lit passage was somewhat cooler, but her head was whirling from the whisky and the heat of her rush through grand hall. What she truly required was an open window and some time alone to calm herself. To evict this all-too-vivid memory of Simon from her head.

She hurried to the first door. After a wary glance behind her to be certain she had not been observed leaving the gala, she pressed down on
the latch and peered inside. A wand of moonlight reached between the drawn curtains, allowing just enough light for Siusan to discern a snug library. She slipped inside and pressed the door back with her hip, closing it behind her.

She could smell the oiled books on the shelves lining the walls though she could not see them. But for the thin swathe of moonlight coming through a break in the curtains, the room was utterly black.

Siusan started for the window, but within her first three steps her knee slammed into something low and hard—
a table?
She bit into her lower lip to stifle a whimper. Her knee throbbed.

Reaching out, she felt for a place to sit down, her hand finally finding a cushioned sofa. Limping around its arm, she sat down and hoisted her skirt up and pulled the ribbon at her thigh, then drew down her stocking to rub her barked knee. It wasn’t bleeding, which was a good thing, since this was her last pair of silk stockings, and she hadn’t the money to buy another if they were ruined.